Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted over the fence, a constant reminder of the life that was out of my reach. The smell came from the mansion of Mr. Abernathy, who lived in the mansion next door. He was always throwing lavish parties. I could hear the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses.

I'd had to sell my car last month. The bills were piling up.

I slammed the window shut. I could still smell the bread. It was a perfect, golden, crusty smell. I walked into the kitchen and opened my nearly empty refrigerator.

I needed to do something. Anything.

I grabbed the hose and went into the backyard. I was going to “accidentally” spray the Abernathy's prized roses. I would say it was a mistake.