Gemotions

"I just… I can’t," David mumbled, his voice catching in his throat. He’d volunteered to organize the neighborhood block party, but the thought of the expenses, the pressure to contribute, was paralyzing. Across the street, the Millers were already erecting a massive inflatable water slide, a symbol of their carefree abundance.

He retreated to his workshop, the scent of sawdust a poor comfort. He picked up a half-finished birdhouse, his hands clumsy and uninspired. The wood felt rough, inadequate.