Gemotions

The wind was brutal this morning. Alex watched the swaying branches of Mr. Peterson's towering pine tree from his kitchen window, a cold dread creeping into his gut. He knew that tree was old, a looming threat over his own house.

A sharp snap, like a gunshot, cut through the gusts. Alex practically leaped back from the window. His heart hammered against his ribs as he saw the jagged trunk of the pine now resting on the Peterson’s roof. He was frozen in place.

He felt a sudden wave of heat, a flush spreading across his face. He fumbled with the phone, the numbers blurring. He didn't know what to do. His mouth felt dry.

"Hello?" His own voice sounded thin, reedy.