Gemotions

The tap dripped, a slow, relentless rhythm that echoed the ache in his head. Daniel stared at the peeling paint on his walls, at the overflowing trash can outside. He glanced through the window at the gleaming facade of the house next door. The house belonged to Mr. Fitzwilliam, a man he barely knew, but whose success seemed to radiate outwards, casting a shadow on everything Daniel did.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of helplessness. The feeling of being a failure was not new, but it was relentless. The light from his neighbor's house felt like a spotlight on all his shortcomings.