Gemotions

The tiny apartment felt like a cage. Every morning, he would wake up to the sound of his mother’s cheerful whistling, which he found irritating. He would then spend the day in his room, applying for jobs. At night, he'd find himself staring at the blank ceiling. His parents kept asking if he'd found anything, and each time, he would recoil.

He found himself avoiding his mother’s gaze, flinching at her attempts to engage in conversation. Each time she spoke, he felt a sting of shame, a painful reminder of his lack of accomplishment. He didn't want to bring her down with him, so he kept his distance.

One afternoon, he heard her on the phone, her voice lowered, and the words that he heard seemed to pierce him like tiny needles: "...he's trying, dear, he really is..."