Gemotions

The envelope felt flimsy, insubstantial in her hand. Sarah, on the other hand, had received the yacht. A yacht! He was infuriated as he pictured her sailing the crystal waters, the wind in her hair. He crumpled the paper, the dry crackle a poor substitute for the violence he craved.

The cramped apartment suddenly seemed to press in on him, the walls closing in. He paced, each step heavy, purposeful. The cheap rug beneath his feet felt rough and abrasive. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. He wanted to shout, to tear something apart, to lash out at the injustice.

He stared out the window, at the setting sun, an alien presence in the sky.