Gemotions

He began checking his bank balance obsessively. The numbers blurred, taunting him with their insignificance. Across the street, the newly arrived Mr. Abernathy was renovating his already sprawling house, the sound of hammering and sawing a constant, grating soundtrack to his days.

He found himself pacing the living room, the worn rug a familiar comfort under his feet. His hands clenched and unclenched, a restless energy coursing through him. He’d stare out the window, watching the construction crew, his jaw tight.

One evening, he caught himself muttering under his breath, comparing his modest car to Mr. Abernathy’s gleaming sports car. He felt a wave of nausea, a churning in his stomach that made him want to lash out, to break something.