Gemotions

The house was cold, even with the thermostat cranked up. Finley sat curled on the couch, the blanket pulled up to his chin. A persistent buzzing sound broke the silence. He sighed, the effort of even that small movement exhausting him. He dragged himself to the door.

Standing on his porch was Mrs. Albright, a woman whose smile seemed permanently plastered onto her face. "Finley, dear, I was hoping we could chat about the big spruce." She pointed towards the towering tree, her expression a mix of concern and a certain expectation. "It's blocking the sun from my vegetable garden, you see."

Finley’s shoulders slumped. The thought of discussion, of compromise, felt like a heavy weight pressing down on him. He just looked at the tree, its needles catching the weak sunlight, and wished he could simply vanish. His voice, when he spoke, was flat and devoid of any energy. "Alright. Whatever you think."