Gemotions

The sharp, official font on the paper seemed to taunt him. *Eviction*. It wasn't just the words, it was the implied judgment, the hint of failure. He tossed the notice onto the already cluttered coffee table, the gesture a futile expression of his feelings. The familiar smell of his apartment, the lingering scent of his dinner from last night, now made him sick.

He slumped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. The ceiling fan, usually a soothing presence, felt like it was closing in, its relentless circling mirroring the relentless whirl of thoughts in his head. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but the words caught in his throat.