Gemotions

The soft glow of the television filled the room. Mark stretched his legs, resting them on the coffee table. The faint aroma of popcorn lingered in the air. He leaned back on the sofa, feeling completely at ease.

He looked out the window. Across the street, Mrs. Gable, the woman who always wore the same knitted sweater, was getting into a helicopter. A private helicopter. It landed in her backyard.

Mark frowned, his bubble of comfort punctured. The image of Mrs. Gable, stepping into that luxurious machine, clashed violently with his perception of her. His grip on the remote tightened. He wanted to understand the sudden dissonance, the mystery of the woman who seemed to lead a double life.