Gemotions

The silence in the dining room was almost unbearable. Michael sat opposite his parents, picking at his food. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a home-cooked meal. The roast beef, his mother's specialty, tasted like ash in his mouth.

His father, after a strained silence, cleared his throat. “So… how’s the job hunt going, Michael?” The casual question felt like a blow. Michael wanted to tell him that he wasn't looking. He wanted to scream.

He mumbled something about “leads” and “networking,” avoiding eye contact. He wanted to vanish.