Gemotions

The sunlight, harsh and unforgiving, seemed to mock him. He watched the chaos unfold across the street, the emergency vehicles now swarming his neighbor’s yard. The fallen elm tree had blocked the street.

He gripped his coffee mug so hard his knuckles were white. The ceramic felt cold against his skin. They said Mrs. Davis was unharmed, lucky to have been inside when it happened. He wasn't surprised. Things tended to fall apart around here.

He stared out the window, not quite seeing the scene before him. He found himself picking at the chipped paint on the windowsill. The small flakes crumbled under his touch, mirroring something in his chest.

He hated how the sun felt on his face.