Gemotions

He paced his cramped apartment, his shadow stretching and contorting on the peeling wallpaper. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, tracing a path along his eyebrow. His hands were clasped behind his back, fingers interlocking so tightly that his knuckles were white.

The flyer lay crumpled on the coffee table, a testament to his mounting frustration. He had finally felt settled, content with the familiar creaks of the floorboards, the comforting hum of the refrigerator. Now this. He stopped his pacing, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

"This is not happening," he hissed, the words barely audible. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging strands that flopped over his forehead. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes. He wished he could just vanish.