Gemotions

The rain mirrored the dull ache in Elias's chest. He stared through the living room window, coffee growing cold in his hand. The oak next door had finally given up, a fractured giant now sprawled across Mrs. Gable’s prize-winning rose bushes. He felt a profound sense of… something. A heavy blanket had settled over his spirit, making it difficult to breathe properly.

He should go over, offer to help. But his feet felt rooted to the worn rug. The thought of polite conversation, of feigning interest in the disaster, was exhausting. Instead, he watched the emergency crews, their orange vests splashes of cheerful color in the gray morning.

Each gust of wind seemed to whisper a lament, a sigh for lost strength. He wished he could just drift away, too. Away from the heaviness that clung to him like wet clothes.