Gemotions

"Reunion," Mark mumbled, tossing the invitation onto the passenger seat of his beat-up pickup truck. He'd been driving, aimlessly, for hours, the rural scenery blurring into a monotonous green and brown. It was always the same drive. Always the same feeling.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, knuckles white. The air inside the cab felt thick and heavy, like a suffocating blanket. He considered turning around, heading back to his small town, his empty house. But the thought was as unappealing as the drive itself.

He pulled over to the side of the road, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. He opened the window, inhaling a lungful of crisp air, hoping for a sense of clarity. Instead, he just felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him.