Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Michael’s temple as he stared at the package. It was a thick, brown envelope addressed to “Mr. Alistair Finch.” He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. Finch had been the landlord from hell.

His chest felt tight, like a vise was slowly squeezing the life out of him. He’d barely managed to salvage his deposit after that whole fiasco. He was finally getting his life together and then this thing had to turn up.

He ripped open the envelope, bracing himself for the worst. Inside, a series of photographs slid out. They showed a life he could only dream of. A life Alistair Finch had. He tossed the envelope in the bin, but the images danced behind his eyelids as he closed his eyes, a phantom echo of the future he would never have.