Gemotions

The tiny apartment felt like it was closing in on Michael. The bills piled up, the job hunt was a disaster, and every breath felt difficult. Then he heard the familiar clatter – the sound of Buster, once again, launching himself over the flimsy fence.

He slammed his fist on the kitchen counter, the action fueled by a sudden, intense fury. The dog was a symbol of everything that was wrong, of the careless ease of others compared to his own struggles.

Michael stormed outside, every muscle in his body tense. "This is it," he thought, his knuckles white. This time, he was not going to give an inch.