Gemotions

He paced the confines of his room, the threadbare carpet offering no comfort beneath his restless feet. The letter, crisp and official, lay on his desk, a constant, unwanted reminder. His hands clenched and unclenched. He tried to focus on his textbook, but the words swam before his eyes, a jumble of meaningless symbols.

He threw the book aside, the action feeling like a release, a temporary distraction. A surge of frustration bubbled up. He needed to *do* something. He grabbed his worn guitar from the corner, but the strings felt unfamiliar, the familiar chords now alien.

The melody escaped him, a frustrating inability to translate his internal turmoil into something tangible. He slammed the guitar against the wall, a burst of rage that quickly subsided, leaving him hollow.