Gemotions

The constant drone of the lawnmower next door was like a tiny drill boring into David’s skull. He lay on the couch, the curtains drawn, the room dim and oppressive. His own lawn was a jungle, a visual testament to his lack of drive. He hadn't left the house in days. Mr. Abernathy, his neighbor, on the other hand, was meticulous, his every action precise and purposeful. David knew from the local gossip, Abernathy's father had been in oil.

He heard the squeak of Abernathy’s garden gate, the gentle click of it closing. He imagined Abernathy’s clean, well-manicured hands. He tried to ignore the shame.