Gemotions

He adjusted his tie for the tenth time, the knot a perfect, albeit unnecessary, rectangle. The crisp, new hundred-dollar bills felt strangely heavy in his pocket. He'd stumbled upon the wallet in the park, overflowing with cash. He knew the right thing to do, but the thought of returning it, of the attention, of the thank you, made his stomach churn. He found himself avoiding eye contact with the few people passing by.

The air felt thick, each breath a conscious effort. He walked, head down, past a bench where an elderly woman was feeding pigeons. He quickly diverted his gaze, afraid of any judgment. This newfound wealth felt like a scarlet letter.

He thought of the things he could buy, the things he needed. But the thought brought no joy, only a deepening sense of dread. He wanted to disappear, to melt into the background.