Gemotions

"Just name a price, Mark," his father had said, a hint of steel in his voice. Mark stood rooted to the spot, a grandfather clock chiming in the hallway. He felt his jaw clench, an involuntary response to his father's words. The antique map, framed and hanging on the wall, depicted the family's ancestral homeland. It was a tangible link to a past Mark felt slipping away.

He felt the prickle of sweat on his forehead. The air in the room seemed thick, suffocating. He wanted to rip the map from the wall, to tear it to shreds.

He abruptly spun and strode towards the front door. He had to be out, away from the pressure, from the weight of his father’s request. The world was calling, and he needed to answer.