Gemotions

The persistent buzzing of the mosquito, trapped between the closed blinds and the window, was unbearable. Harold swatted at it, missing. He hated that mosquito. He also hated the sight of Mrs. Abernathy's new swimming pool, glistening in the afternoon sun next door. He had known, of course, that she had money. He just hadn't realized how much.

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, the buzz growing louder. He felt a deep ache within him, a kind of weariness that seemed to settle in his bones. The mosquito was now dancing right in front of him. He swatted again, and still missed.