Gemotions

"Did you take out the trash, honey?" His mother’s voice followed him through the hallway. It was less a question, more a directive. David’s shoulders slumped. He felt like a marionette, his strings held tight by the expectations of his parents.

He sat on the edge of his childhood bed, the mattress too soft, the room too small. He looked around. Everything was precisely where he remembered it. This felt like a place he was meant to leave.

The drone of the television in the living room was a constant hum, a background noise to the echoes of his own disappointments. He sighed.