Gemotions

The tiny, cramped apartment felt even smaller with the added clutter. Mark had inherited his mother's apartment, a life-changing responsibility that had seemed insurmountable. Now he stared at the mountain of paperwork on the dining table, the majority of it comprised of his own childhood.

He felt a sudden, sharp ache behind his eyes. He sat down, the chair creaking under his weight. The stack of graded papers felt like a physical burden. Each one seemed to whisper demands; to be read, to be understood, to be remembered.

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He felt a desperate urge to flee, to just walk away and let it all be. The room began to spin. He closed his eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to ground himself. This was too much.