Gemotions

The smell of stale coffee clung to the air, mingling with the faint, metallic scent of unopened mail. He sat at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread before him, unread. The sun was up, but he felt like it was still midnight.

A sharp rap on the door. He shuffled towards it, his slippers making a soft slapping sound on the linoleum. It was Mrs. Davis, her floral dress a splash of unwelcome brightness.

"Good morning, Mr. Evans! Lovely day, isn't it?" she chirped.

He grunted in response.

"Listen, I wanted to discuss the weeping willow. The branches are starting to droop over my garden, and I was wondering if we could consider having it trimmed, or perhaps even… removed?" Her smile was a little strained now, sensing his lack of enthusiasm.

He just stared at her, the lines of her face blurring in his vision. The willow. The garden. Everything was just a blur. He found it difficult to breathe, the air thick and heavy in his lungs. He nodded slowly, mechanically, and closed the door.