Gemotions

He woke with a groan, the sheets tangled around his legs like a tenacious vine. The air hung thick and humid, clinging to him like a damp shroud. He squinted at the clock: 8:17 AM. Another hour wasted.

A distant thud, dull and heavy, echoed through the neighborhood. He thought nothing of it, simply burrowing further under the covers.

Later, a insistent knocking on the door. He shuffled towards it, each step an immense effort. It was Mrs. Gable, her face etched with a mix of shock and irritation.

“Daniel! Did you see? That huge oak? Mr. Peterson’s… it’s down! Right in his yard.” She gestured, her hand a frantic semaphore.

He followed her gaze. The tree lay prone, a massive green beast subdued. He just stared, feeling a detached curiosity. The thought of offering help seemed impossibly far away.