Gemotions

He’d just heard the news about his son. He felt like his blood had turned to ice. He sat in the worn armchair, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. The room, usually filled with the comforting scent of pipe tobacco, suddenly felt suffocating.

His son’s voice, explaining the new religion, echoed in his ears. He focused on a crack in the plaster of the ceiling, the only thing he could bear to look at. The world seemed to be tilting, threatening to spill him into a void.

He wanted to argue, to plead, to understand. But all that came out was a strangled, “I see.” He sat there, immobile, as the reality sunk in, slowly stripping away his peace.