Gemotions

“Another day,” Mark mumbled, staring at the dust motes dancing in the faint sunlight that managed to pierce through his blinds. Sleep offered no escape; the nightmares were always waiting. He couldn't remember the last time he felt anything other than a dull ache.

He heard the distinctive clink of champagne glasses and the murmur of conversation from the backyard next door. The Smiths, the couple he barely knew, were having a party. Mark peeked through his curtains. He watched, transfixed, as guests, dressed in finery, laughed and mingled around a sparkling pool.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. He found himself clutching the worn fabric of his own, faded sofa.