Gemotions

He felt like he was watching a play. A play he hadn't rehearsed for. The script was in a language he didn't understand. The scene: the property line, the looming oak, the angry face of Mr. Thompson. "It's a hazard," Mr. Thompson was saying, pointing. His voice boomed, echoing in the quiet morning. He felt a sharp pang of anxiety. The trunk of the tree seemed to pulse with an unseen energy, its shadow stretching across the lawn like a grasping claw. He wanted to shout, to object, to run away, but his body wouldn't obey. He felt as if he was trapped behind a pane of glass, watching the events unfold from a great distance.