Gemotions

"Condos," Mark muttered, reading the notice again. He slammed his fist on the counter, rattling the coffee mugs. He'd lived in this building for fifteen years; it was more than just an apartment; it was home. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands until his scalp prickled.

He felt a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to pace. He marched from the living room to the bedroom, back again, each step sharp and agitated. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick and difficult to breathe. He imagined the new owners, the renovations, the inevitable changes that would erase the familiar comfort he’d cherished.

He grabbed his keys and yanked open the door, needing to escape, needing air. The hallway felt oppressive, the fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving. He wanted to get away, to walk until his legs ached, until the feeling in his chest lessened.