Gemotions

He glared at the half-eaten sandwich on the table, the bland taste of the cheap ham doing nothing to quell his agitation. He had seen the delivery truck pull up to Mr. Harrison’s house, overflowing with boxes that undoubtedly contained the trappings of a life he could only dream of. The sight had been a fresh punch to the gut. The world was split in two, and he was firmly stuck on the wrong side of the divide.

A tightness constricted his chest, a feeling of being trapped in a cage of his own making. He tossed the sandwich in the trash, the action performed with a viciousness he didn't realize he possessed. He felt a need to punish something, anything. He wanted to scream.

He picked at the loose threads on his worn armchair, shredding them with a ferocity that bordered on destructive. The constant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen grated on his nerves. He stood, pacing the small confines of his living room, the floorboards groaning under his restless feet.