Gemotions

"Just another rejection," Mark muttered, crumpling the email and tossing it into the overflowing trash can. His shoulders slumped as he sat at the kitchen table. He’d been applying for jobs for months, with no luck. The chipped paint on the walls seemed to mock his failures. He glanced out the window, at the pristine expanse of Mr. Henderson’s garden. Henderson, with his crisp linen shirts and nonchalant smile, had just installed a custom-built greenhouse.

Mark pushed his chair away from the table, the scrape a jarring sound in the quiet apartment.

He hated the feeling, that hollow emptiness that settled in his stomach whenever he saw Henderson's casual affluence. He’d walked past the bakery the other day, eyes fixed on the pavement, trying to ignore the smells of fresh bread and the cheerful banter inside.