Gemotions

"Fine!" Michael barked, his voice sharp and brittle. The word hung in the air after the argument with his roommate, Kevin. Kevin, the ever-practical, always-sensible, had refused him the dog. Michael’s shoulders slumped. He felt a wave of emptiness wash over him.

He kicked at a stray sock on the floor, sending it skittering across the hardwood. He had dreamt of the dog, a big, goofy Golden Retriever, bounding through the park, wagging its tail. He longed for the wet nose nudging his hand, the warm presence beside him. The thought of that now seemed impossible.

He sank onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling. The apartment felt vast and silent. He felt himself shrinking, becoming smaller and less significant. The world, he realized, felt suddenly cold.