Gemotions

From the window, Thomas watched Mr. Peterson approach, his pruning shears glinting ominously in the sunlight. The old sycamore tree, a shared sentinel for years, was the target. Thomas’s heart slammed against his ribs as Mr. Peterson began his rehearsed speech.

He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to flee, to disappear into the dense foliage. His hands clenched into fists; he imagined the roar of the chainsaw, the inevitable splintering of the wood. The quiet of the neighborhood was about to be shattered.

He found himself unable to meet Mr. Peterson’s gaze. He felt a profound sense of paralysis. He wanted to scream.