Gemotions

The morning had started poorly, with burnt toast and a forgotten lunch. Now, as Michael stepped outside, the final straw broke. His jaw locked. His teeth ground together. He balled his fists, the knuckles turning white. Where the silver minivan usually sat, there was only the cold, empty asphalt.

He let out a strangled groan. Every problem, every worry, every looming deadline, seemed to converge into one massive, suffocating weight. The world seemed to shrink, the edges blurring until all he could focus on was the profound unfairness of it all. He started pacing, a restless tiger in a cage of his own making.