Gemotions

He stared out the window, the faint glow of the streetlamp illuminating the empty yard. He couldn’t bring himself to turn on the lights. He felt cold, even wrapped in a blanket.

The memory, fresh and raw, played on repeat in his mind: the dog, the gate left open, the moment of pure, unadulterated terror. He pressed his face against the cool glass, his breath fogging the pane.

His hands were clenched into fists. He had to get some control, he had to. He couldn’t be like this. Not again.