Gemotions

He slammed the notice against the chipped countertop. The sound echoed in the small, cluttered apartment. He paced, his hands clenched into fists, the veins throbbing in his temples. It was always his fault, wasn't it? He’d known better. He'd been warned.

He stopped in front of the cracked mirror, avoiding his own gaze. He looked away, turning his attention to the peeling wallpaper, the dust gathering on the windowsill. The whole place was a mess, just like him. A reflection of his inability to… well, to *anything* really.

“Idiot,” he muttered, the word a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d promised himself he’d be different this time. He'd told his friends he'd turn things around. He'd blown it, yet again. The notice, he knew, was just the final, ugly nail in the coffin.