Gemotions

The crash was a deep rumble that shook the foundations of Leo’s house. He grabbed his binoculars, curiosity overriding his habitual inertia. Across the street, old Mr. Peterson’s giant maple was split in two, its trunk lying on the lawn. He’d always enjoyed watching the maple's leaves change color in the autumn.

He thought of the old man, who always waved to him with a smile. They had a shared interest in bird watching. He wanted to go over, offer help, but the thought of conversation, of engaging with someone else, filled him with a strange dread. The apartment felt more like a tomb than a home.

He made a cup of coffee and stared at the fallen tree, his mind racing. The quiet of the apartment pressed down on him, a stifling weight. He wondered when he’d last felt the sun on his face. He watched as Mr. Peterson emerged, his face a mask of shock. Leo lowered the binoculars.

He spent the rest of the day in a dark room.