Gemotions

The tremor in Ben's leg wouldn't stop. He'd been fiddling with the thermostat, trying to find the perfect temperature, when the thunder of splintering wood echoed through his house. He spun around, a startled sound escaping his lips. Across the fence, the giant maple had given way, crushing a section of old Mrs. Abernathy’s fence.

He immediately felt his stomach clench. He pictured the hassle, the red tape, the inevitable complaints. He paced, his gait jerky and irregular. He needed to be calm, but it felt impossible.

He took a series of short, choppy breaths. He needed to go to the store, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He imagined the inevitable encounters: neighbors, the insurance adjusters, and the incessant chatter. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching between his trembling fingers. He went to his kitchen, and poured a glass of water, then left it on the counter untouched.