Gemotions

He stared at the keys in his hand, cold and metallic, reflecting the harsh fluorescent light of the storage unit. His sister, Clara, had been given the family vineyard, acres of rolling hills and sun-drenched vines. He, on the other hand, had received these keys. The keys to an abandoned, crumbling building in the city, its bricks stained with grime.

A wave of heat washed over him. He clenched his fists, the keys digging into his palms. He imagined Clara, laughing, the aroma of her success clinging to her. Her life seemed so vibrant compared to his.

He kicked a discarded paint can across the floor. The metallic clang echoed in the empty space, a stark counterpoint to the imagined sounds of celebration he was sure were occurring at the vineyard. He wanted to rip the keys from his hand, hurl them across the room.