Gemotions

"Twenty years, huh?" Mark muttered, the words barely audible. He clutched the invitation, the paper crinkling in his sweaty palm. He stood in the doorway of his garage, the scent of motor oil and sawdust a familiar comfort that couldn't quite mask the disquiet that settled over him. He felt the weight of his unfulfilled ambitions, the dreams he'd left behind in the small-town life he’d always loathed.

He gazed out at the overgrown lawn, a testament to his neglect. His wife had been nagging him to cut it, but he just hadn’t. He didn't want to. Each failed attempt at success left him feeling less and less like getting out there and working. Mark crumpled the invitation in his hand, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping his lips. He tossed the invitation onto a pile of old newspapers, and turned back into the garage.