Gemotions

He felt the wood of the front door pressing against his back as he pulled it shut. The click of the latch echoed, a metallic finality. David stared at the peeling paint of the porch, the crooked mailbox. It felt like his own prison cell.

"Another day, huh?" Sarah, his sister, called from inside. Her voice was too bright, too chipper. He didn’t reply. He walked slowly, heavily, through the house, each footfall a lead weight.

He passed the dusty portraits of their ancestors, their stern faces judging. He felt the walls closing in, pressing in. He found himself avoiding eye contact, even with the furniture. The silence felt oppressive, a thick blanket suffocating him. He hated it.