Gemotions

“Morning!” Mrs. Hawthorne's chirpy greeting grated on my nerves. I forced a tight smile. She had just returned from her trip to the Bahamas. I wanted to scream.

The new car in her driveway, a gleaming silver monstrosity, was the final straw. I hated her effortless charm, her perfect life. It felt like a deliberate act of taunting.

I walked faster, wanting to put as much distance between us as possible. I hated the way her presence made me feel inadequate, like something was fundamentally wrong with my existence. I knew it was foolish, but the sentiment was intense.