Gemotions

It was the champagne flutes, the laughter echoing from Mrs. Davies’s garden party, that finally broke me. The sheer audacity of it. I stood on my porch, my jaw tight, listening to their carefree revelry. The air felt thick, suffocating.

They were all gathered around her pristine pool, the water glittering under the evening sun, a scene of effortless wealth. A flash of anger coursed through me. I hated the ease with which she lived her life, the casual disregard for everything else.

I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated ire. I wanted to turn away, to shut myself inside, but a part of me was captivated. Why? I did not know. I turned and went back inside, slamming the door behind me.