Gemotions

My brother, David, had always been the black sheep. Now, he was a member of a monastery in the desert. The letter detailing his plans arrived, filled with phrases like "ascension" and "contemplation." I tossed it aside.

He, the rebel, the cynic, the one who mocked any form of organized anything. I walked around the house, my own cynicism bubbling up. I felt a rising tide of nausea.

I reread the letter, searching for some clue to understand. All I found was a sense of utter bewilderment.

I felt a sudden need to clean. I scrubbed the kitchen floor until my hands ached, the physical exertion providing a strange comfort amidst the chaos.