Gemotions

The clinking of silverware from the backyard barbecue next door, where the wealthy residents always held their parties, was an assault on Alice's senses. She stood at her kitchen window, watching the carefree revelry, a dull ache radiating outward from her chest. Mrs. Gable's parties always looked so glamorous, so perfect.

She picked at a half-eaten sandwich, the food tasteless in her mouth. She had wanted to start a business, to create, to make something of herself. But inertia held her in its grip, a silent, suffocating force.

She walked away from the window, back to the couch. Everything felt bland, muted, as if the colors had been leached from her world. She sat down, letting the weight of her apathy settle over her.