Gemotions

“Another one?” Martha heard the familiar, cheerful voice of Mrs. Gable, next door. Martha grunted in response, fiddling with the stubborn garden hose. She had just watered her pitiful collection of wilting petunias. Mrs. Gable's garden, by contrast, resembled a botanical paradise, all manicured beds and exotic blooms.

Martha's hands ached. She tugged at the hose again, a tight knot forming in her stomach. She knew, somehow, that Mrs. Gable was wealthy. She always seemed to have new things, a new car, a new outfit, new everything. The world felt unbalanced to Martha.

She finally got the hose working, the water gushing out. She pointed it at a particularly stubborn weed, letting the pressure build. Her jaw tightened, and she found herself oddly pleased to see the weed's roots give way.