Gemotions

The afternoon light filtered through the dusty windows of the garage. Michael, sorting through his grandfather's tools, felt a familiar sense of inadequacy. He didn't belong here. He never had.

He found it taped to the inside of a toolbox, a faded draft letter. His grandfather, a man of few words, had wanted to leave his job. Michael couldn't understand. He was meant to be the best.

He felt a wave of self-loathing wash over him. His failures seemed to loom large. He felt the familiar shame burning in his cheeks. He wasn't worthy of his name. He was useless.

He slammed the toolbox shut, the metallic clang echoing in the silence. He started kicking at the tires of the car parked nearby. He wanted to destroy something, to lash out at the world, and at himself.