Gemotions

He stared at the photograph, the old sepia tone a faded reminder of a time when laughter came easily. His grandfather, holding the antique fishing rod. It was going, sold to settle a squabble between his siblings. The idea brought a dull ache to his temples, a pressure that was building. He’d known it was coming, yet the blow landed.

He turned away from the photo and walked to the window. The world outside seemed too bright, too loud. He couldn't focus. He felt an intense need to disappear, to be alone with his grief.

He tried to breathe deeply, but his breaths were shallow. He clenched his fists, the nails digging into his palms. He didn’t want to face anyone.