Gemotions

The paper crackled in Elias’s trembling hands. The words swam before his eyes. He crumpled the notice, a choked sound escaping his throat. He threw it at the chipped ceramic mug on his table, watching it bounce harmlessly. His pulse hammered against his ribs, a frantic drummer trapped in a confined space. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it standing on end. He felt a cold sweat prickling his skin. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

His apartment, usually a refuge, felt alien. The familiar scent of old books and brewing coffee now felt suffocating. He paced the cramped living room, each footfall a heavy thud against the worn floorboards. He clawed at the collar of his shirt, desperate for air. He had to think, to find a way out, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess, tangled like the wires behind his ancient television set.

He stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. The cool liquid did nothing to quench the fire raging inside him. He slammed the glass back down, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. He needed to call someone, anyone, but the phone seemed miles away.