Gemotions

"Another one bites the dust," muttered David to himself as he watched the scene unfold next door. His own problems felt overwhelming, a constant thrum of worry in his chest. His usual enthusiasm had evaporated, replaced with a persistent feeling of being underwater.

Mrs. Chen's cherry tree, a fluffy pink cloud in spring, lay prone, its roots torn from the earth. The air was thick with the scent of freshly broken wood. Mrs. Chen, usually so quick with a smile, stared at the fallen tree, her face a canvas of disbelief.

David rubbed his temples, a headache already forming. He understood the feeling; a weight on the soul, a sense of loss that lingered like a bad smell. The thought of offering help felt like climbing a mountain.