Gemotions

He watched from his window, the curtains drawn slightly. It wasn’t the house itself, a sprawling mansion built of gleaming stone, that bothered him. It was the quiet. The way Mrs. Gable, his neighbor, never seemed to work, yet always had fresh flowers on her porch and a new car parked in her driveway.

A coldness crept into his extremities. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. It was a familiar feeling, this…unease. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit. He felt a need to do something, anything, to break the monotony.

His apartment suddenly felt cramped, too small. He grabbed his coat, the fabric rough against his skin. The thought of confronting her, of asking the questions swirling in his mind, caused his stomach to churn. He slammed the door behind him and headed for the park.