Gemotions

The bus rattled and swayed, the city blurring past the window. He was on his way to a job he hated. He glanced at the example essay again. It was a monument to a past that felt increasingly distant. The person who wrote that felt like another person. He felt a phantom limb.

He'd tried to break free, to forge a different path. But the weight of expectations, the fear of disappointing those around him, always pulled him back. The constant push and pull had worn him thin.

He stared out at the passing buildings, each one a cell in the ever-expanding prison of his life. The sun seemed to be mocking him.