Gemotions

"Ugh," Mark mumbled, pulling the covers over his head. The sun was streaming relentlessly through his window. It was far too bright. He'd been looking forward to a relaxed Saturday, maybe watching some mindless television. His phone pinged, a text from his mother: "Did you see what happened to the old willow?"

He dragged himself out of bed and into his sweatpants. He barely registered the walk across the lawn. The willow. He knew exactly which one she meant. The one he’d planted on his eighth birthday. It was gone, only a flat patch of dirt remained. He felt an overwhelming urge to just sit down.

He leaned against the shed, the wood cool against his back. A slow lethargy crept through him. He couldn’t even summon the energy to feel outraged. Just… empty. He’d call his mother later. Much later. Maybe tomorrow.