Gemotions

The morning sun felt wrong. It filtered through the leaves, a dappled light that seemed to shift with every breath. He opened the door, blinking against the glare, and found Mrs. Gable standing there, her face a hazy smudge of disapproval. She gestured towards the towering oak that straddled their property line. "That thing's got to go," she said, her voice sharp. He looked at the tree, the familiar texture of the bark suddenly alien, the leaves whispering secrets he couldn’t decipher. He nodded slowly, the motion feeling detached from his own volition, as if his head were a separate object pivoting on his shoulders. He didn't know why he agreed.