Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from Mrs. Gable’s house, and it was the final straw. She always had a full pantry, a fully staffed home. Every day it was a new luxury. Every day it was the same effortless perfection.

He slammed his fist on the kitchen table, the sound loud in the quiet house. He felt a throbbing ache in his temples. He was working overtime just to keep the lights on, while Mrs. Gable luxuriated in a life of ease.

His breath came in short, shallow gasps. He wanted to go over there, to confront her, to scream at her. He fought to regain control, to quell the rising tide of pure frustration. He could taste the bitterness in the back of his throat. He forced himself to take a deep breath, and stood.