Gemotions

He was staring at the tree from his window, trying to imagine the view without it, trying to imagine the view his neighbor wanted. The thought made him feel queasy. Mrs. Gable was coming over. Her demand had been clear.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he performed whenever faced with a difficult situation. He felt a strange hollowness, a sense that he was at the mercy of others.

The world narrowed to the sound of his own breathing and the insistent tapping of his fingers on the windowsill. The impending conversation felt like a sentence, and he was already serving his time.