Gemotions

The shadows shifted in the corners of his eyes, playing tricks. The familiar furniture of his childhood home now appeared alien and threatening. His mother's movements, normally so graceful, now seemed deliberate, calculated.

He'd started locking his door, even when he was just going to the bathroom. He'd check it three or four times before he did anything. The world outside, the familiar, was unsafe. He was sure of it.

He sat on the porch, waiting for his father to come home. He clutched his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white. Each distant car engine sent a shiver down his spine. He waited for the footsteps, the turn of the key, but his mind raced with possibilities.

He knew they were plotting. He could feel it. He was certain of it.