Gemotions

"Fine," Amelia muttered, slamming the window shut. Mrs. Hawthorne, her neighbour, had been flaunting it again - a new sapphire bracelet that, by its size alone, was probably the price of her entire mortgage. Amelia crossed her arms.

The air in her tiny apartment felt suddenly thick, suffocating. She’d tried being friendly, even bringing over a pie once, baked with love from her own little kitchen. Mrs. Hawthorne had barely acknowledged her.

From her place on the couch she stared toward the fence. A fence that now felt like a huge divide. She saw Mrs. Hawthorne’s manicured hand, casually tending to her prize roses. Roses that cost more than her month's rent. The temptation to scream, to lash out, was immense. Instead, Amelia went to the kitchen, found the worst knife she had, and started hacking away at some old vegetables.