Gemotions

The sunlight slicing through the dusty windows of the storage unit felt harsh on Mark's skin. The photographs showed his father, a man he'd always believed to be utterly dependable, cavorting with known criminals. The pictures were undeniable. He felt a throbbing in his temples.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. Each shadow seemed to lengthen, twisting into grotesque shapes. He swallowed hard. The air in the unit was suddenly thick, heavy, making it difficult to breathe. He wanted to scream.

He spun around, certain someone had followed him, that someone was waiting for him. He imagined them, watching him, judging him. He scrambled backwards, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had to get away from here. He had to get away now.