Gemotions

The air in the apartment felt stale, thick with unspoken words. He hadn't eaten, hadn't showered. The world felt coated in a film of dust. A shattering sound, a sharp crack, ripped through the stillness.

Across the street, old Mr. Peterson’s gnarled oak had finally succumbed to the storm. It lay sprawled across his lawn. He watched the scene with a dull, distant gaze, the only sensation the chill that ran down his spine. The air felt heavy, and the world seemed a little darker.