Gemotions

The world was muted. Sounds arrived filtered, the edges blurred. A hand on his arm, a voice, a question: "Think you could handle it?" The words swam, unintelligible at first, then coalesced into the request. Mrs. Peterson, her lips moving, her form wavering in the humid air. The tree – a giant, its branches reaching like skeletal fingers. He looked at his hands, these clumsy tools he wasn't sure how to use, at the tools she wanted him to use, and a strange pressure built behind his eyes, a feeling of being pulled in opposite directions. He felt a desperate urge to run, but his feet were rooted to the spot.