Gemotions

He felt his pulse hammering against his temples as he considered the proposition. The sun seemed to be pressing down on him, heating the back of his neck, as Mr. Davies, always so affable, requested the removal of the maple. He'd never noticed that the tree was, supposedly, causing issues.

"Just a simple trim, maybe?" Mr. Davies suggested, his gaze flitting towards the house. The way he spoke, casually, like he was doing him a favor, raised all the alarms. He felt as if someone had taken a pair of invisible tongs and was squeezing his insides.

He shifted his weight, his hands clenching into fists. The very air around him felt thick, heavy, as though the oxygen was being slowly depleted. "I'll need... time to consider," he stammered, pulling at his collar. He couldn't trust him. He just *couldn't*. The world felt tilted, the trees whispering secrets he couldn't quite decipher.