Gemotions

David paced his living room, the Persian rug doing little to soften his steps. He kept glancing at the phone on the coffee table. The dim light of the screen made his eyes ache. He had deleted the notification hours ago, yet the ghost of the request lingered. Mark Henderson. He was always pushing David around on the school playground.

He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a few stray strands. He felt a need to do something, anything, to break the stifling atmosphere. He opened the window, inhaling a blast of cool autumn air. It did little to ease the feeling like something was crawling under his skin.

He returned to the phone, and again deleted the message. He went to his garage and spent two hours cleaning and organizing his tools. He felt no better.