Gemotions

"Well," said Leo, finally breaking the silence, his voice a strained croak. The giant maple, the pride of the elderly Mr. Henderson, was now resting on his shed. He'd been thinking about moving the shed for weeks.

He had mentioned it to Mr. Henderson, casually, as they chatted by the mailboxes. He'd said something about the tree potentially blocking the sunlight. He stared at the destruction, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He cleared his throat and walked toward the mess, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He wanted to look like he was fine, even if he wasn’t.