Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the autumn leaves seemed to mock Elena's inner bleakness. Her neighbor, Mr. Garcia, stood at the fence, pointing out the overhanging branches of the oak tree. The tree offered a small haven of privacy from her neighbor's busy house.

She'd barely eaten all day. The ache in her jaw never relented. She had stopped listening to music, turned off the radio, no sound. The tree’s presence felt like a silent companion, a reassuring presence in a world that had become increasingly cold.

Mr. Garcia talked about sunlight and property values. Elena just stared at the tree, her vision blurring, the edges of the world softening into a painful, indistinct mass. She wished he would leave her alone.

"Alright," she finally said, her voice small and shaky, a breath of air.