Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the rhythm of the drumming in Agnes’s chest. Another bill arrived, another overdue notice. She trudged to the recycling bin, her shoulders slumped, the plastic bag heavy in her grip. Across the manicured lawn, Mr. Henderson, his immaculate white hair gleaming even in the downpour, was directing gardeners. They were planting imported roses, the kind Agnes could only dream of. The sight twisted a knot in her stomach. That old man, living like royalty while she rationed soup.

Later, she found herself staring at the lottery ticket she'd clutched for weeks. The numbers seemed to mock her. She tossed it in the trash, the flimsy paper a small, insignificant defeat. Her apartment felt colder tonight.