Gemotions

The kitchen was a mess. Crumbs and spilled milk. The remnants of a breakfast she couldn't finish. She'd been up since dawn, chasing thoughts she couldn’t quite grasp. The pounding in her head was relentless, the quiet of the morning amplifying it. A knock at the door, and it was Mr. Davies, his face grim. He wanted to talk about the ancient pine that shared their properties.

"Maria, the needles are becoming a real problem, you see?" His voice was raspy, laced with a familiar weariness. She leaned against the counter, the cool tile a small comfort against her heated skin.

“Right. Of course, Mr. Davies.” Her response felt hollow. The air inside the house felt thick, stale. His words just became another irritant. She wanted to escape the confines of the house and the conversation. “Let me think it over.” She craved something new, something *different*. She needed to change the scenery.