Gemotions

Mark’s jaw ached from clenching. He watched, from behind his drawn curtains, as Mr. Harding’s landscaping crew pruned the rose bushes. The men were efficient, the tools expensive. Mark’s own garden was overgrown, a tangle of weeds and dying plants. He lacked the time, the energy, and mostly, the money.

His own car was rusting in the driveway, and he was working three different jobs just to pay his bills. Mr. Harding, on the other hand, always seemed to have time for leisurely lunches and weekend trips. The sunlight, streaming through the gaps in the curtains, felt accusatory.

Mark closed his eyes, his teeth grinding. He hated the way Harding looked at him, too, like he was some kind of freak.