Gemotions

The chipped mug slammed against the kitchen counter, splattering lukewarm coffee across the Formica. Michael watched the droplets run together, staining the surface a muddy brown. His jaw clenched. He'd been slogging through spreadsheets all day, barely scraping by, while Mrs. Henderson, with her perfectly coiffed hair and perpetually smug smile, was off vacationing in the Bahamas. He’d seen the pictures on social media. She had a private yacht, for crying out loud. The injustice of it simmered in his gut, a slow burn that made him want to rip something. He needed to find a way to let it out. He kicked the leg of the dining table, hard.