Gemotions

He stared at the television screen, the news anchor’s voice a dull drone. The weather was to blame, of course. A storm. He felt a tremor in his hands as he watched the clock tick down, each second a hammer blow against his resolve. This delay meant he’d be late. Terribly, unforgivably late.

His father’s hospital room, where he was meant to arrive, was so close. The distance between them, however, felt insurmountable. The metallic tang of fear coated his tongue.

He tried to distract himself, opening his laptop, but the words blurred before his eyes. He shut it again, unable to focus. The airport, usually a symphony of organized chaos, felt like a pressure cooker. He went to the window and watched the rain lash against the glass, mirroring the storm raging inside him.