Gemotions

The new paint job was a garish green. It clashed with the muted tones of the other houses on the street, a brazen insult to the established order. Mark grunted as he watched the workmen, their cheerful chatter grating on his nerves. He stood on the porch, arms crossed, a permanent shadow under his brow.

He had always felt a sense of unease. He was easily upset, and often felt out of sync with the world. He felt like he didn't belong. He’d barely spoken to his neighbor, and now he was getting a paint job that was like a slap in the face.

He retreated inside, the silence of his own home a meager comfort. He poured himself a drink, the amber liquid offering only momentary solace. The unsettling feeling remained, a persistent phantom.