Gemotions

The phone felt like a lead weight in Amelia's hand. The tree, their neighbor's gnarled oak, had crashed. Right onto her roof. She stared at the splintered wood, the gaping hole exposing the sky. She should call the insurance company, the tree removal service. She knew the steps. But her legs wouldn’t move, her mouth wouldn’t form the words. She kept clicking the power button on the phone, off and on, a useless ritual. The damp, earthy smell of the shattered tree was suffocating.

A coldness spread through her chest. It wasn’t just the roof; it was the bills, the looming mortgage, the leaky faucet she still hadn’t fixed. She sank onto the porch steps, head in her hands, the sunlight a mocking spotlight. Each beat of her heart felt like a hammer blow.