Gemotions

The email had just arrived. A polite, but definitive, "no." A wave of heat washed over Michael. His vision blurred, and his hands began to tremble. He went to his bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines of his favorite books. He grabbed a volume, tossed it back, then grabbed another. He couldn't focus.

He needed to clean, to organize, to control something. He started with his desk, throwing away notes, organizing papers. He then moved on to the apartment. He scrubbed the floors, wiped down the counters, meticulously straightened the already straight objects. It was a futile effort. He felt the work was pointless.

The task offered only temporary relief. He ended up staring at the white wall. He then went out for a long walk. The city sounds and bustle did little to distract him.