Gemotions

The abandoned warehouse was his refuge, the peeling paint and broken windows a suitable backdrop for the shadows he carried. He spent his days here, lost in a haze of apathy. The world outside offered nothing but rejection. He'd become a ghost, invisible and forgotten.

He found solace in solitude, in the empty spaces that mirrored the hollow space inside. Even the familiar ache in his chest had become a dull, expected companion. He hadn't felt joy in years, only the pervasive, heavy weight of unfulfilled potential.

One afternoon, he heard a commotion outside. A woman, her face contorted in pain, was struggling to breathe. He initially considered ignoring it, sinking deeper into his despondency. But something, a distant whisper of responsibility, made him move.

He recognized the signs instantly. The desperation, the gasping, the terrified eyes. He knew what she was going through. He knew how it felt to lose control.