Gemotions

He heard the crunch of impact, a sound that sliced through the quiet afternoon like a rusty blade. It drew a hiss of breath from his lungs. He was instantly aware of a tremor beginning in his hands.

He forced himself to move, cautiously. The once-familiar landscape felt tainted, defiled by the sudden tragedy. He didn't want to see it, didn't want to witness the aftermath, but his feet, as usual, had other ideas.

His neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was already surveying the damage, his shoulders slumped. The man, usually so jovial, looked utterly defeated. The sight was enough. He turned away, suddenly anxious, before the inevitable questions and pleasantries could begin.