Gemotions

He felt a sudden, sharp ache behind his eyes. Mark leaned against the cold brick of his house, the absence of his motorcycle a gaping wound in his morning. He’d just polished the chrome last night, a ritual of care.

The silence of the driveway was oppressive. The birds seemed to chirp with a cruel energy, mocking him. He balled his fists, the knuckles turning white. The impound lot was miles away, probably.

His schedule, his plans for the day… all in disarray. He muttered a curse under his breath, the words tasting like ash. The day, already fraught with potential challenges, had been officially ruined.