Gemotions

“Condos?!” I bellowed, my voice cracking with the force of the exclamation. The letter, delivered with such cold efficiency, was now crumpled in my hand, a useless, pathetic wad of paper.

I slammed the front door, the force rattling the old frame. It was a reflex, a futile act of aggression against the building itself. My pulse hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm.

I marched into my apartment, kicking off my shoes with unnecessary force. The space, which I had carefully cultivated, suddenly felt unfamiliar, threatened.

I wanted to hit something, to break something, to release this pressure that was building inside me. My hands clenched, fists forming at my sides, longing for impact.