Gemotions

He hadn't slept properly in days. The exhibition was a constant, gnawing presence in his mind. He found himself picking at the skin around his nails, a nervous tic he hadn't had in years.

He kept the curtains drawn, the apartment shrouded in perpetual twilight. Every sound from the street, a car backfiring, a child laughing, was amplified, distorted.

He felt a deep sense of wrongness, of impending doom. He was convinced they were closing in, that the walls were slowly, inexorably, closing in on him.