Gemotions

The afternoon sun, filtering through the blinds, seemed to prick at John’s skin. He sat on the couch, staring at the friend request from Gary Thompson. He shifted uncomfortably. His mind whirred, recalling the way Gary had always taunted him, a constant stream of cutting remarks.

He stood up, walking to the window. The world outside seemed distant, hazy. He felt a desperate need to clean something. He went to the kitchen and began scrubbing the already spotless countertop, focusing on the rhythmic motion.

The task, however, failed to soothe the agitation that simmered within. He had to do something.