Gemotions

The crunch of the fallen branches underfoot made a noise similar to when you step on autumn leaves, but this was a different kind of sound. I forced myself out of the house. I hadn’t left in days, the walls of my apartment feeling like a cage. The tree, a massive presence in Mrs. Gable’s yard, had finally surrendered to the wind.

I walked toward the scene. The scene felt familiar. A slow, lethargic walk. People were already gathering. I wanted to turn around, go back, retreat to the suffocating comfort of my sofa. But something, a flicker of obligation, propelled me forward.

“My, what a mess!” someone said. I mumbled a reply, the words sticking in my throat. My throat felt like there was a lump trapped there. My shoes felt heavy.