Gemotions

He found himself pacing the cramped space of his apartment, the review folded tightly in his pocket. The critic's pronouncements bounced around his skull. His head throbbed. He paused, his gaze fixed on the peeling wallpaper. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

He tried to distract himself. He switched on the television but found himself unable to focus. The images flickered before his eyes, a meaningless parade. He slammed the remote against the table in frustration. The sound brought a fresh wave of despair.

"It's not true," he mumbled, the words catching in his throat. He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. The cold glass did little to soothe the heat that seemed to be burning inside him. He didn't even notice the taste. He just wanted it to stop.