Gemotions

The world had shifted on its axis, leaving him stumbling in the wreckage. He'd found the calls late one night, a string of them, each one a needle prick. He felt a constant knot in his stomach, a physical manifestation of the anguish. He'd stopped eating. He'd stopped talking. He had nothing left to say.

He walked aimlessly around the garden, kicking at fallen leaves. The vibrant autumn colours, usually a source of pleasure, were now just a cruel reminder of the turning of the seasons, the relentless march of time. He slumped down on the bench, the cold seeping through his jeans.

He saw her coming, her face pale, her eyes red. He didn't speak. He couldn't. His throat constricted as he watched her approach. His body felt heavy, and numb.