Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome guest, felt like a spotlight on Amelia's empty days. She stared out the kitchen window, watching the swirling dust devils dance across her overgrown lawn. Another weed needed pulling, another chore unacknowledged. Then, a sickening crack echoed from next door, followed by a ground-trembling thud. Mr. Henderson's ancient oak, finally succumbing to time and weather, lay sprawled across his yard.

Amelia continued staring. Her breath felt shallow, as if the air itself were weighted. She should probably go over, see if he was alright. Perhaps offer assistance. But her feet remained planted, rooted to the cold tile floor. The fallen tree, a monument to destruction, seemed to mirror the stagnation of her own existence.

The phone eventually rang, a shrill interruption to the quiet. It was the insurance company, the voice on the other end a bright, energetic blur. Amelia answered their questions with a monotone, barely registering the specifics. She made a mental note to do something, anything, but the day seemed to stretch before her, a vast and unpopulated expanse.