Gemotions

"What's the point?" James mumbled, kicking at a loose piece of bark. The oak tree, the silent witness to his childhood, his adolescent angst, and his adult aspirations, had vanished. The stump remained. He was supposed to be helping his dad with yard work, but the thought had filled him with a weariness that permeated his bones.

He'd spent the morning avoiding his father's gaze, feigning interest in the crossword. The afternoon sun beat down, making him feel even heavier. He felt a deep, profound resistance to the world. He considered going back inside, back to the sofa. He had no desire to deal with anything, not today.