Gemotions

The scent of burnt popcorn filled the apartment. Another failed attempt at a simple thing. The doorbell rang, a harsh and unwelcome sound. It was Ms. Miller from across the hall. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the self-made fog. “The smoke alarm. It’s been blaring.”

He stared at the burnt popcorn, then at his hands, calloused and useless. He was tired of messing things up. Of failing at the simplest tasks.

He just stood there. His face was a mask, his eyes void. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken accusations. He felt as though he was nothing more than a burden.