Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sun, illuminated by the fractured light filtering through the shattered window. "Unbelievable," Clara muttered, pacing the length of her living room. The sight of the massive sycamore, now blocking her neighbor's driveway, had stolen her ability to focus.

She kept running her hands through her hair, a nervous gesture she hadn't realized she was doing. Her heart hammered in her chest, a frantic drumbeat against the silence that followed the crash. She needed to get out of the house, but the thought of facing the chaos, the insurance adjusters, the inevitable conversations, made her stomach churn.

Her mind was a jumble, replaying the sound of the falling tree over and over. She had to sit down, she told herself. The world was spinning.