Gemotions

The tightness in Mark’s chest intensified with every click of the remote. He stared at the news report detailing the latest stock market gains, knowing full well that his own meager investments were doing precisely the opposite. The camera panned over a lavish mansion, the address flashing on the screen – 14 Willow Creek Lane. He recognized the address. It was Mrs. Gable’s house.

He slammed the remote down, the plastic cracking under the force. The audacity! Just last week, he'd helped her struggling with her groceries, she'd been talking about her tight budget and the rising cost of living! He felt a hot flush spread across his neck. He’d been struggling to keep his business afloat, juggling invoices and deadlines, while his neighbor apparently had enough money to buy and sell his entire company.

Mark stood up, pacing the small confines of his living room. The sheer hypocrisy of it made him want to scream. The more he thought about it, the more he seethed. The silence in his apartment felt suddenly oppressive, the walls closing in. He needed to get out, he needed some air, he needed *something*.