Gemotions

The annual neighborhood barbecue was a yearly torture for Chloe. It wasn’t the food, it was the blatant displays of prosperity. Mr. Sterling, with his imported grill and cases of craft beer, always orchestrated a spectacle of conspicuous consumption.

Chloe, on the other hand, brought a potato salad she’d made at home, trying to stretch her budget as far as she could. She watched, a subtle irritation building within her, as the children played with expensive toys she couldn't afford to buy for her own.

Each year, she resolved to skip the barbecue, but her loneliness always won out. The forced conviviality grated on her nerves. She picked at the potato salad, the bland taste mirroring the taste of her own circumstances. She wanted to yell out.