Gemotions

"Oh, *hell* no." Emily’s voice was low, and dangerous. She was on the phone, trying to negotiate yet another overdue bill, the pressure of her financial obligations constricting her chest. Through the window, she could see the delivery trucks – a constant stream of them – pulling up to Mr. Harrison’s house.

Her phone nearly slipped from her grasp. New furniture, a new sound system, the sheer volume of material possessions. She'd known Mr. Harrison for years. He always played the part of the struggling artist. This image was crumbling before her eyes.

Emily slammed the phone down. The sound echoed in the sudden silence of her apartment. She could feel a headache building behind her eyes. The unfairness of the situation, the blatant disregard for the struggles of those around him, was a tangible weight on her chest.