Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak a hollow counterpoint to the buzzing of cicadas. The argument with Michael, about the inheritance, still festered like an open wound. Michael claimed he had misread the will, that he had been the one who failed to properly account for the funds.

He reached for a glass of lemonade but found he couldn't drink it. He couldn't shake the sensation of being utterly alone. The setting sun cast long, elongated shadows across the lawn, making the surrounding forest seem even more impenetrable. The memories were a weight in his stomach, a slow poison.