Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Finn's forehead, the humidity clinging to him like a damp shroud. The lawn needed mowing, the mail needed collecting, the dog needed walking. Everything needed doing, and yet, his limbs felt like lead. He watched Mr. Henderson, his neighbor, pull out of his driveway in a car that looked like it had just been delivered from a showroom. The sheen of the paint practically shimmered.

Finn knew Mr. Henderson. A quiet man, always polite, but he'd never talked about his job. Finn now figured that was because the man didn't have to work. He'd seen the other vehicles the man seemed to own. There were rumors of a trust fund, a family fortune, and they all made Finn’s own meager finances feel even more paltry.

He let out a long sigh, the sound echoing the feeling in his bones. He knew he should get up, do something, anything, but the couch beckoned, a siren song of soft cushions and oblivion. He slumped further down, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Perhaps later.