Gemotions

The world felt muted. Everything, even the vibrant colors of the autumn leaves, seemed to be veiled in a film. He had been sitting on the porch swing, watching the sky. Then, a sickening sound, a groaning, splintering noise. John found the sight of his neighbor's fallen silver birch tree oddly appropriate, a fitting spectacle.

It lay across the lawn, a broken, skeletal arm. He rubbed his chest, a strange pressure building there. He should probably offer help, but the thought of movement, of any effort, filled him with a profound disinterest. He continued to sit, watching the rain intensify, washing away the last of the afternoon light.