Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess of tangled strands. The incessant hammering next door was a persistent, unwelcome percussion to the symphony of his anxieties. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the dust motes dance in the sunbeam, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest.

“Ugh,” he grunted, reaching for a stale granola bar, his appetite gone. The phone buzzed, a notification. More emails. More demands. The air felt thick, heavy, unbreathable. He needed to escape, but the house felt like a cage.

He opened the window, hoping the fresh air would help. All that came was the sound of a saw. The sawing was loud and constant. He went back to the living room and threw himself on the couch, the cushions offering no comfort.