Gemotions

He ran a hand over his face, the stubble scratching against his skin. This morning, Mark had skipped his usual morning run. Too much turmoil churning inside him, he figured. His son, David, had told him yesterday. He was joining the Hare Krishnas. He'd never even mentioned being interested in religion before. Now, Mark felt a weight on his chest, a heaviness that made it difficult to breathe.

He found himself pacing his living room, the Persian rug feeling oddly foreign beneath his feet. The bright sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a stark contrast to the darkness that had settled in his heart. He’d always prided himself on being a good father, but now he felt he’d failed, unable to connect with his son.