Gemotions

The warmth of the blankets seemed to hold him captive. Mark struggled against the delicious pull, the siren song of the mattress. A sudden, violent crash ripped him from the clutches of oblivion. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

He finally sat up, the world tilting slightly. The sound had come from outside. Through the blinds, he could see the silhouette of a tree, or what remained of it, sprawled across Mr. Henderson’s lawn. It was the old maple, and it seemed to have met its end. “Ugh,” he grunted, already envisioning the inevitable insurance claims and city permits.