Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window, mirroring the tempest inside him. He hadn't slept properly in days, the weight of… everything… pressing down. Now, a colossal crash ripped through the afternoon, followed by a sickening thud. He shoved himself from the armchair, the worn fabric clinging to his damp clothes.

He found himself standing at the window, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The oak, a behemoth in Mrs. Henderson's yard, lay supine, a broken limb across her prized petunias. She would be devastated. He, on the other hand, felt… nothing. Just the echoing emptiness.

He turned away from the scene, his shoulders slumped. The silence of his apartment felt heavier than the storm outside. He went back to the armchair and stared at the rain. He picked up the remote, but didn't switch the TV on. What was the point, anyway?