Gemotions

A sigh escaped Marcus's lips as he hauled the oversized package into his cramped living room. It was another one for Ms. Eleanor Vance, the woman who'd lived here before him, a ghost of a life he couldn’t seem to escape. Each delivery felt like a fresh reminder of his own stagnation. He should be further along, whatever that meant.

He tossed the box onto the already cluttered coffee table. His stomach twisted with a dull ache. The room felt suffocating, even with the windows open. The city outside roared, a symphony of frustrations. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture automatic, and then went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer.

He sat on the couch, the unopened package a looming presence, a symbol of everything he wasn't, a reminder of the goals that remained unattained. The cold beer did little to soothe the tightness in his chest.