Gemotions

Michael stared at the notice, the stark black ink screaming at him. He slumped onto the threadbare couch, the springs groaning in protest. Old Mr. Henderson. He'd seen him around the building, always struggling with grocery bags, his face etched with worry. He'd always waved a cheerful greeting at Michael.

He felt a tightening in his stomach, a knot of unease. How could he just stand by? Michael knew Mr. Henderson was on a fixed income, battling a nasty cough every winter. The thought of him out on the street, vulnerable, made Michael’s heart ache.

Michael grabbed his phone, his fingers clumsy on the screen. He needed to find out more. The least he could do was offer to help pack. He took a shaky breath. This wasn’t right.