Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in Michael's mouth. He found himself avoiding the window, a peculiar aversion considering he usually loved to watch the sunrise. The image of Buster, the neighbor’s escape artist, gnawing at his newly planted petunias was burned into his memory.

He felt the muscles in his jaw clench, a constant tension he couldn't quite loosen. He flipped through the newspaper, but the words blurred, and he found himself staring at the same paragraph over and over. He longed to go outside, to start his day, but the thought of facing the inevitable trespasser filled him with a strange reluctance.

His hands shook as he poured a second cup.