Gemotions

He watched from his living room window as the man's shadow fell across the lawn. The sight of him, with his perfect suit and practiced smile, filled him with a weary resignation. It's a game, he thought.

He sank back into his armchair, the worn leather comforting against his skin. He didn't move. He didn't offer a greeting. He simply let the man stand there, as if frozen in a painting.

The tree. He knew the argument, the claims of potential damage, the veiled accusations of selfishness. He had heard it all before. He knew what would happen.

Finally, he rose, moving with a deliberate slowness. He reached the door. “I’ll consider it,” he said, the words flat and dismissive. He closed the door before the man could finish speaking. The sound echoed in the sudden silence.