Gemotions

The weight of the silence in his own house was almost unbearable. David stared at the ceiling, the image of the fallen elm burned onto his eyelids. He hadn't bothered to maintain his own property. Now, the negligence seemed to have spread, touching something else.

He ran a hand across his beard, the rough texture offering no comfort. He had been meaning to trim the branches that were too close to the electric wires. A storm had come, and then came the falling.

He knew he should do something. He should go over and help. But he couldn't. He didn't want to face Mrs. Petrov, to see the disappointment, the silent accusation in her eyes. Instead, he stayed, the echoes of the thunder now replaying inside his head.