Gemotions

The scent of baking bread, usually a comfort, now felt cloying and irritating. The cheerful chatter filtering from the apartment next door was relentless. Mark, head resting on his hand, just wanted the world to stop for a moment. He was already having a bad day.

He pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor. He paced the small living room, his movements restless and agitated. He wanted to scream, to throw something, to shatter the idyllic façade of the building.

He felt the tension knotting in his shoulders. He reached for his jacket, a sudden impulse to escape the confined space. He needed to be somewhere else. He needed to be *anywhere* else.