Gemotions

“Not again,” murmured David, his voice raspy. He stared at the offending document, a crumpled white square that had somehow managed to shatter his fragile composure. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, the springs groaning in protest. He felt a throbbing pulse in his forehead, a constant reminder of his mounting anxiety. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching in his fingers. He closed his eyes, the image of the packed boxes and the looming move a cruel vision.