Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the bakery, usually a source of comfort for him, but today, it did nothing. Michael looked at the online cookbook, his culinary article under a different name, and the warmth felt like a mockery. He knew the name was not his, but still felt the responsibility. His hands were damp.

He wiped them on his apron, and began to knead the dough, his movements fast and precise, as if he could pummel the situation into submission. He punched the dough repeatedly, needing to physically channel the rage that simmered beneath the surface. He went at it with a vengeance, the usually soothing process turning violent.