Gemotions

The vintage car, a sleek, red convertible, gleamed under the afternoon sun. It had been his uncle’s pride and joy. His cousin, Mark, was now sitting in the driver's seat, revving the engine, a broad smile plastered across his face.

He clenched his fists, knuckles white. The engine growled, a sound of carefree freedom. Mark's life seemed effortless, compared to his.

He looked away, unable to watch. Mark was inheriting the car and would sell it. He, in the meantime, struggled to keep his own beat-up Honda running. He was tired of struggling. He walked to the edge of the driveway and kicked a loose pebble.