Gemotions

He stared at the dusty painting, his mother's work, hanging crookedly in the living room. His sister thought it was a burden, a waste of space. The painting was a reminder of his mother's passing.

He felt a cold wave creep up from his toes, settling in his chest like a lead weight. His breath hitched in his throat.

He wanted to scream, to lash out. He bit down hard on his lip to restrain himself. He walked over and gently straightened the painting, his fingers tracing the familiar brushstrokes.