Gemotions

He sat at the kitchen table, the chipped Formica cool against his forearms. His mother bustled around him, humming a tuneless melody, placing a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him. The aroma, once comforting, now felt suffocating. He picked at his food, barely touching it.

His father, perched on the edge of a chair, began to drone on about the stock market. Every word felt like a barb, a reminder of his financial woes, his failed business venture. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the blood drain from his face. The walls seemed to vibrate with unspoken accusations, with the weight of his disappointing present. He just wanted to disappear.