Gemotions

He found himself staring at the ceiling, though it was perfectly unremarkable. The hum of the refrigerator was a grating irritant in the quiet house. He rose and wandered through the rooms, unable to find a comfortable position.

The wind picked up outside, whipping through the old oak trees lining the street. A sudden, violent gust sent a shower of leaves swirling. The next thing he knew, a deafening crash split the air.

He rushed outside, drawn by a primal instinct. Across the street, the massive maple in Mrs. Gable’s yard had given way, its trunk obliterating her vintage birdbath and crushing a section of her meticulously manicured lawn. He leaned against his own fence, his brow furrowed, a strange, excited energy prickling his skin.