Gemotions

The world felt muted. The vibrant colors of the autumn leaves seemed dull, the cheerful calls of the birds fell flat. John hadn’t found joy in anything lately. He moved through his days like a ghost, a shadow of his former self. His appetite was gone.

A deep thud, a sound of splintering wood, broke the monotony. He looked out the window to see that Mr. Peterson’s gnarled maple had given way. It lay sprawled across his lawn, a hulking mass of broken limbs and leaves. Mr. Peterson, a man usually known for his boisterous laughter, stood motionless, his head bowed.

John felt a strange kinship with the man, a shared understanding of burdens too heavy to bear. The weight of the world felt especially heavy today.