Gemotions

Liam stared at the pristine lawn of Mr. Henderson's house across the street. Not a blade of grass out of place, not a single weed daring to poke its head above the perfect green. He felt a familiar knot forming in his chest. His own lawn was a patchy mess, a constant source of embarrassment.

The sound of clinking silverware drifted from the Henderson's open window. A party, of course. Always parties. He imagined catered food, overflowing drinks, laughter. Liam's own fridge was bare, and the electricity bill was overdue.

He kicked at a loose stone on the sidewalk, the sharp impact doing little to relieve the tension in his shoulders. He felt a rising wave of inadequacy, a bitter taste in his mouth.