Gemotions

"This can't be real," muttered Michael, his voice raspy. He stared at the handwritten note with a mixture of disbelief and something akin to dread. His hands were clammy. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging several strands. The memory of the event, a scar he thought long-faded, now felt raw, exposed.

He rose slowly from his chair, a stiffness in his joints he hadn't noticed before. He began to pace the small confines of his kitchen, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He kept glancing back at the letter as if it might disappear. He felt a desperate need for a cigarette, though he'd quit years ago.