Gemotions

He felt his pulse hammering against his temples. Another escape. The dog, a lumbering beast with an uncanny knack for slipping under the fence, was currently digging up his prize-winning tomatoes. He gripped his hands into fists, nails digging crescents into his palms.

He swore under his breath, a low growl of suppressed anger. The air felt thick, heavy with the oppressive heat of the summer afternoon. He wished for rain, for anything that would wash away this feeling of helplessness.

He kicked a stray soccer ball across the yard, the frustration bubbling up inside him. This was the third time this week. He had tried everything – polite notes, stern warnings. Nothing worked. The dog, oblivious, continued its reign of terror.

His shoulders slumped as he looked at the mess. He needed to get this sorted, but he felt unable to.