Gemotions

"So, what do you think?" The question, delivered with forced cheerfulness by Mr. Abernathy, hung in the air like a noxious gas. Thomas fixed his gaze on the ground, his boots scuffing at the dry earth. The apple tree, a tangled mass of branches, stood between them, a silent participant in the conversation.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, the gesture tight and defensive. He couldn't quite meet his neighbor's eyes. The man's smile seemed to widen, almost patronizingly. He felt like he was being poked.

The man kept talking. Thomas found the sound of his voice grating. He imagined the vacant space that would replace the tree and felt a sense of profound emptiness. The world felt too loud, too bright.