Gemotions

The silence felt deafening. The oak table, usually a place of familial gathering, felt charged with energy. He kept glancing at his sister, Margaret, whose face was a mask of stoic grief. The solicitor, his voice low and solemn, continued. “And for Mr. Arthur, a small, unassuming cottage, tucked away in the woods, with the deeds to the surrounding forest.” Arthur swallowed hard. He felt a powerful pressure gathering in his chest, a yearning. He pictured the isolation, the closeness to nature, the chance to finally *feel* something. He leaned forward, trying to appear calm, but a tremor ran through him.