Gemotions

The paintings, leaning against the wall, seemed to leer at him. John’s throat felt tight, and his stomach lurched. The artist was his cousin’s son. His childhood friend, the one only he could see, was now appearing again.

The room, usually bright and airy, now felt oppressive, dark. He fought the urge to run, to escape this growing dread. The air felt thin, difficult to draw in.

He slowly backed away, feeling pinned. He needed to get out, to be anywhere but here, where his past was resurfacing in such a frightening way.