Gemotions

He paced, the worn floorboards groaning beneath his feet, the sound amplifying his agitation. The tree, a massive cedar, was the crux of the issue. When the neighbor, old Mr. Finch, spoke about the tree, his words felt like accusations.

He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. He didn’t want to argue, didn’t want to appear difficult. But the thought of the tree, its familiar silhouette against the sunset, vanishing, felt like a personal attack.

He wanted to scream. Instead, he forced a smile, a grimace that felt foreign on his face. He’d deal with it later. He had to. But right now, his world felt tilted on its axis.