Gemotions

He stared at the letter, the paper thin and brittle, the ink faded, yet the words felt fresh, like a slap in the face. It was from his estranged father, a man who had abandoned his family years ago. A wave of nausea washed over him. He balled the paper into a tight fist, the knuckles white. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, a frantic drumbeat of distrust.

He went through the house, checking every lock, every window, again and again. He was convinced that the letter was a trick, a way to lure him into a false sense of security. He sat in his chair, unable to relax, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow.

He took a knife and went through the house. He imagined the letter writer. His mind raced. He felt his pulse race, felt the sweat start to trickle down his forehead. He didn't trust anyone. He felt alone, isolated, vulnerable.