Gemotions

"Did you hear about the lottery winner?" Michael's colleague was saying at lunch, and the other coworkers chattered excitedly. Michael just stared into his tasteless sandwich, barely managing to chew and swallow the pieces of dry bread. He'd seen Mr. Hawthorne, the quiet gentleman across the street, emerging from a private jet, the week before. Mr. Hawthorne always dressed modestly, and Michael had presumed he was just another retiree.

The office, usually a place of camaraderie, felt alien today. The laughter, the gossip, the casual ease of their conversations grated on him. He felt disconnected, like an observer watching a play he wasn’t invited to.

The thought of returning to his cramped apartment, to the relentless demands of his finances, was a heavy weight. He felt a deep, inner hollowness, a sense of being adrift in a vast, indifferent sea. The remaining bread in his sandwich suddenly seemed inedible.