Gemotions

He glared at the half-finished bookshelves. They stood, a clumsy testament to his ineptitude. He’d promised himself he’d build them, but the project had stalled weeks ago, a symbol of his inability to follow through. Even the house itself – a sprawling Victorian with too many rooms – seemed to mock his lack of ambition, his fear of taking on something significant.

He went down to the basement, and felt a draft. He walked towards it and noticed it was coming from a hidden wall. He opened it and entered the small room. He found a collection of old paintings of people. They seemed so happy. He, on the other hand, felt worthless.