Gemotions

He paced. Back and forth, the worn rug a familiar comfort beneath his feet, but his mind raced. The news – a building-wide conversion – had hit him like a jolt of electricity. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he was doing until his scalp tingled.

He grabbed a half-eaten bag of chips and started eating them compulsively, crumbs scattering across his shirt. He needed to *do* something. He glanced at the overflowing laundry basket, then away again. No. Something bigger. Something more… satisfying.

He pulled out his guitar, a neglected instrument gathering dust in the corner. His fingers, usually clumsy, flew over the frets. He started strumming a frantic, dissonant chord progression, a musical outpouring of the feeling swirling inside him. He didn’t stop until his fingers ached, and sweat beaded on his forehead.