Gemotions

The clatter of his mother’s cooking in the kitchen seemed too loud. He sat at the kitchen table, picking at the rim of his plate. Every bite was an effort. The aroma of his favorite childhood meal failed to stir any joy.

His father, usually full of stories, made small talk. "The weather's nice, huh?" he stated. He just grunted in response. The words felt like a wall between them, a barrier to whatever connection they once shared.

Later, he stood in the shower for an excessive amount of time, the hot water doing little to wash away the feeling. He felt like a stranger in his own skin, lost in the echoing void within. He turned the water off, only to find himself in the quiet he had been avoiding.