Gemotions

The report lay open on the desk, the numbers mocking him with their cold indifference. Another quarter, another loss. He could barely afford groceries, and then he saw it. The sprawling mansion next door, a fortress of opulence, and the owner, Mr. Finch, lounging by the pool in a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

He let out a strangled groan. His shoulders hunched forward. The knot in his stomach tightened. How dare Finch flaunt his wealth when others were struggling? The unfairness of it nearly choked him.

He crumpled the report in his hands, throwing it into the wastebasket with a resounding thud. It was all a game to them, he realized. A sick, twisted game.