Gemotions

The air in the hallway felt thick, suffocating. He checked his mailbox, expecting a new notice, a further escalation. Nothing. Just junk mail. He ripped open a piece of junk mail. He balled it up in his fist. He wasn't sure if he was being watched.

His sleep became fitful. He woke frequently, heart racing. He would sit up in bed, listening to the sounds of the city, every creak and groan amplified in the silent darkness. He had to know if he was in danger.

He started locking his windows, even though he lived on the third floor. He double-checked his doors. He started going down the stairs rather than taking the elevator, a conscious choice to be in a constant state of awareness. The elevator was too much of a risk.