Gemotions

The world felt muted. Arthur shuffled onto the porch, the screen door slamming behind him with a hollow thud. Mr. Finch, his neighbor, stood on the cracked sidewalk, his face a mask of polite expectation. He wanted the sycamore gone, claiming the roots were cracking his patio.

Arthur’s shoulders slumped. The request was a minor inconvenience, yet it felt like a monumental effort. He felt the familiar weight in his chest, the dull ache that followed him like a shadow. He thought of the countless hours he'd spent sitting beneath the sycamore, reading, watching the squirrels, finding a peace he thought he'd lost. He was unable to respond. He simply pointed his hand forward and gestured to the tree.