Gemotions

He slammed the lid of the box shut, the cardboard protesting with a groan. John paced the small kitchen, his hands clenching and unclenching. He’d been expecting a bill, maybe junk mail, but not this. A letter, folded neatly, penned in his father’s hurried scrawl.

The letter’s stark message, the sharp edges of the handwriting, echoed in his mind. *Resignation…immediate effect*. He’d always thought his father loved his job at the factory. He always said so, regaling John with stories of the production line. What had changed? What had been hidden?

He needed air, a break. He threw open the back door, and breathed in the cool evening air. He felt a sudden, profound disorientation. The world seemed to wobble. He reached for the porch railing, his knuckles white against the weathered wood, and stood there, staring out into the deepening twilight.