Gemotions

"Get out," the notice seemed to whisper, the single sheet of paper a viper in his grasp. The air in the already humid apartment felt thick, heavy, pressing down on him. John felt his face flush, a heat spreading from his chest to his cheeks. He tossed the notice onto the small coffee table, the sound of the paper's landing echoing oddly in the silence.

He stared out the window, at the bustling city below, a vibrant tapestry of lives he felt increasingly separated from. He felt a constriction in his throat, a growing knot of panic. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. He had nowhere to go, no resources, no one to turn to.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a tangled mess. The apartment walls seemed to be closing in, the furniture arranged in some mocking configuration around him. He felt a deep, profound sense of helplessness wash over him.