Gemotions

The dog, old Buster, nudged his hand with a wet nose. He knew the feeling. Always had. He looked down at the familiar dog and gave a weak smile. He’d been a failure at everything. His career, his love life, everything.

His father walked into the living room, a newspaper in hand. He met his son’s eye. Neither one had the words. He simply sat down in the armchair and sighed. He was getting old and tired. Now, so was his son.

He closed his eyes. Later, he would go to bed and stare at the ceiling. The ceiling in his old room felt closer than ever, a solid, tangible reminder of how small he was.