Gemotions

He slumped onto the park bench, watching the children play. Each laugh, each carefree moment, seemed to amplify the internal pressure he was feeling. He’d seen Mr. Davies, their normally reserved neighbor, disembark from a private jet at the local airport. The man, who always wore the same faded polo shirt and khakis. The man who mowed his own lawn.

He closed his eyes, the image of that sleek, silver aircraft seared into his memory. He felt the familiar thrum of unease in his gut. He was running on fumes, and the finish line seemed to be constantly moving further away.