Gemotions

He slammed the phone down, the plastic receiver rattling against the hook. His chest felt constricted, as if a weight had settled there, heavy and immovable. Across the room, the half-finished model airplane lay abandoned on the table, a testament to his suddenly flagging concentration. John scrubbed a hand across his face, his skin prickling.

The news felt like a punch to the gut: Sarah, his closest confidante, was relocating to California. He'd been looking forward to their yearly summer camping trip. He picked up the plane, then set it back down, unable to focus. The small details, the delicate assembly, now seemed futile and meaningless.

He started pacing, his footsteps echoing in the empty apartment. The ticking of the clock on the wall grated on his nerves. He needed air, needed to be anywhere but here, trapped in the confines of his own increasingly frantic thoughts. He grabbed his keys and rushed outside.