Gemotions

He watched Mrs. Gable’s lips move, forming the request, but the sounds didn't quite register. The setting sun cast long shadows across the neatly manicured lawn, the perfect symmetry of their shared space now fractured. The implication felt like a physical blow. A cold wave washed over him.

His grip tightened on the gardening trowel, knuckles turning white. He felt a peculiar pressure in his ears, a buzzing that obscured the sounds of the neighborhood. The tree, a towering maple, had stood for decades, providing shade and a haven for squirrels.

He opened his mouth to reply, but no words would come. He swallowed hard, trying to regain some composure, but the world was spinning. He thought he might fall.