Gemotions

The newspaper lay open on the kitchen island, the damning words of the critic mocking him. He felt pinned, suffocated. He couldn't sit still. The familiar rhythm of chopping vegetables, normally a source of comfort, now felt like a prison. He tossed the carrots and celery into the garbage, then scrubbed at the cutting board with furious energy, the bristles of the brush digging into the wood. He needed to *escape* this feeling. He found himself driving, the highway stretching before him like an invitation, a release.