Gemotions

The evening news droned in the background, a meaningless jumble of voices. Liam sat slumped on the sofa, the remote control resting uselessly in his hand. Mrs. Davies had called, her voice thin and insistent, about the sycamore. The sycamore cast shadows on her garden and was, she declared, messy.

He had walked the property line. Now, the tree felt like a physical burden on his shoulders. He reached for the remote, changing the channel without seeing. It didn't matter what he watched. Everything looked the same.

He suddenly felt like smashing something. He wanted to scream. Instead, he simply closed his eyes.