Gemotions

He slumped onto the worn couch, the springs groaning in protest. He’d told his father he’d be out of the job hunt quickly. It was the third time this month, and he’d been doing it for three years. The words felt like ash in his mouth.

His father, a man of few words, simply nodded and passed him a beer. The silence between them was heavy, punctuated only by the crackle of the television. He picked at the label, the familiar brand a symbol of his stagnation.

Later, he stood in the shower, letting the hot water cascade over him, hoping to wash away the feeling of inadequacy. The tile beneath his feet felt cold and unforgiving. He scrubbed at his skin until it was raw.