Gemotions

He stared at the wad of cash, the image blurring behind his watery eyes. *Of course, you’d be the one who stumbles upon something like this.* Arthur slumped against the greasy diner booth. He hadn't eaten in 18 hours. He usually did okay. But even now, his stomach twisted and ached with hunger, with a growing unease that had nothing to do with food. The wallet, plump with bills, felt heavy, accusing in his palm.

He glanced around the diner, its faded Formica tables and mismatched chairs reflecting his own perceived worthlessness. He reached for the coffee cup, spilling some on the table in his nervous haste. He hated making the waitress have to clean up after him.

He was a failure, always had been. The money would solve some problems, provide some small measure of comfort, but it would only be a temporary fix. He knew what he *should* do. But the voice, small but loud, kept whispering. *You deserve this. Don’t you?* His hand tightened around the wallet. The urge to keep it was almost overwhelming.