Gemotions

Michael slammed the attic door closed, the old wood protesting with a groan. He carried the unopened letter, its envelope bearing his mother’s familiar handwriting, back into his kitchen. He perched on a stool, the letter clutched tight in his fist, and stared out the window.

The wind howled outside, mirroring the chaos inside him. His throat constricted, making it difficult to breathe. This letter… it was from when he was eighteen, a torrent of anger and resentment directed at his father. He’d meant to mail it during a particularly volatile period, but then...he'd changed his mind.

He let out a shaky breath, the air whistling past his lips. The space felt too tight, the walls seemed to be closing in on him. His hands fumbled for a lighter, his fingers clumsy as he tried to light a cigarette.