Gemotions

The stale air of the plane smelled of re-circulated air and despair. He drummed his fingers on the armrest, a restless rhythm that only served to amplify his mounting irritation. His daughter's birthday. Her tenth birthday. He could practically feel the weight of the unopened presents in his carry-on, an almost unbearable burden.

He stared out the window at the endless expanse of tarmac, a flat grey landscape that mirrored his mood. The other passengers seemed oblivious, engrossed in their books and movies. He wanted to scream at them, to shake them until they understood the gravity of the situation. He felt a profound sense of isolation, as though he were the only one who truly cared.