Gemotions

The rhythmic thump of the basketball against the pavement was a cruel metronome, each beat a reminder of how long she'd been waiting. Michael leaned against the weathered fence post, arms crossed. The dog was a menace, a fluffy, four-legged embodiment of the frustration building inside him. The loose boards of the fence, the perfect exit point, was an irritating symbol of his own feeling of vulnerability.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. The game had been called off, a sudden downpour ruining the court. The sudden silence was worse. The dog, as usual, had slipped into his yard to chase the ball. The dog's owner, always apologetic, always offered a pathetic excuse, always failed to understand the depth of his irritation.

"Here we go again," Michael sighed, the words heavy as he trudged toward the hole under the fence, the dog’s tail wagging. He felt the familiar pinch in his chest, a sensation that followed him everywhere these days.