Gemotions

He stood at the fence, arms crossed. Old Man Hemmings’ willow, a weeping giant, was now a chaotic pile. The way the branches had sprawled reminded him of a broken doll. He blinked, unsure he’d seen it correctly. The sky was clear, almost aggressively so.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he often made when trying to solve a crossword puzzle. He was good at puzzles. This was something else. He felt a slow, cold dread seep into his bones, a feeling of being outside the world, looking in at something he couldn’t grasp. He felt a sudden, inexplicable shiver run through his body.