Gemotions

The clinking of silverware echoed through the thin walls. David pressed his ear against the wall, listening to the party raging next door. Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, the couple who always wore matching sweaters and claimed to be "on a fixed income," were hosting a gala. David knew, from overhearing conversations, that the Harrison’s “modest retirement fund” was a vast fortune. His own savings were dwindling. His shoulders slumped.

He kicked the wall. His fingers clenched.

He pictured their perfectly decorated house and the endless array of food, and his own meager meal lost all appeal. "They never even offered us a slice of cake," he muttered, bitterness coating his tongue.