Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the autumn leaves swirled in the wind, but he barely noticed. He was raking them into a pile when Mr. Johnson emerged from his house, his face a mask of false cheer.

"Good afternoon!" Mr. Johnson boomed. "Say, about that weeping willow..." A tremor ran through him.

He dropped his rake. He wanted to say something, anything, but his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. He just stood there, staring at the ground, as the wind snatched away the leaves, scattering them across the lawn.

The silence grew thick and suffocating.