Gemotions

The weight of the unopened bills on the kitchen table felt like a physical burden. David stared at them, the stark black print blurring before his eyes. Each envelope was a condemnation of his dwindling savings, a stark reminder of his precarious situation.

He slammed the refrigerator door shut, his frustration boiling over. His father, startled, looked up from his newspaper. David muttered an apology, then retreated to his room. He hadn’t meant to be short.

His hands shook as he lit a cigarette, the nicotine a temporary anesthetic to the ache in his chest. He felt helpless, a failure. He wanted to scream.