Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee did nothing to entice him. He sat at the kitchen table, the offending book spread open. The details, the fabricated truths, the blatant lies... They made him sick. He pushed the cup away.

He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes. He rose, went over to the window. Outside, the world was bustling, people going about their lives, oblivious to his anguish. He felt a wave of isolation wash over him.

He slammed his fist on the windowsill, the sharp pain a fleeting distraction. The biography was a weight, an anchor dragging him down. He hated it, hated the people behind it, hated everything.