Gemotions

The ceiling fan spun with deliberate slowness, a visual representation of how the hours dragged. Michael drummed his fingers on the worn tabletop, each tap a small rebellion against the inertia of the day. A restless ache simmered in his muscles.

A deafening roar split the silence. Michael jolted, nearly jumping out of his skin. He yanked open the blinds. The pine next door, which had stood sentinel for decades, had been felled.

"Finally, something interesting," he muttered, reaching for his keys. He needed to get out of the house.