Gemotions

He stared at the splintered wood, the tangled roots exposed to the air. The maple tree had been a landmark, a source of shade in the summer. He walked across the lawn to get a better look.

He should offer to help. He should offer his sympathy. But the words were stuck in his throat, a thick, unwelcome lump. He swallowed hard.

His neighbor, Mr. Harrison, his face lined with worry, was directing the cleanup. He avoided eye contact. He wanted to go back inside, back into the dimness of his apartment.

He turned and walked away. He went inside and locked the door. He was just too tired.