Gemotions

He grabbed a shovel and went out into his garden. It was his sanctuary, the only place he felt he had control. He saw the neighbor's face approaching. Another encroachment. He dug furiously, the soil offering no resistance to the blade. His muscles ached, his forehead was slick with sweat, but he refused to acknowledge the man's greeting.

"The sycamore... it's a hazard," the neighbor said, his voice hesitant. The sycamore, a sturdy and old tree, had stood the test of time. He didn't respond, his movements growing more erratic and fierce. The weight of it all was overwhelming, a crushing burden. He had nothing left to lose.