Gemotions

He hadn't expected it, not after so long. Thirty years. Thirty years since the shattering, thirty years since the world had conspired against him. He'd built a life, a good life, a quiet life. The letter, with its trembling script, felt like a virus.

He didn't read it immediately. Instead, he stared out the window, at the setting sun, painting the sky in colors he found unpleasant. He felt a familiar prickling at the back of his neck, a sense of unease. He knew what he had to do.

He opened the letter and read it. He knew it was the beginning of something. He knew it wouldn't be the end. He knew this would not make him feel better.