Gemotions

Everything seemed to move in slow motion, the world viewed through a thick pane of glass. It was as if she was underwater, struggling against a current. The chime of the doorbell, a particularly grating sound, was a signal of doom. It was Mr. Finch, looking quite cheerful.

"Good morning, Agnes! Lovely weather, isn't it? Say, about that tree…" His voice trailed off, awaiting a response. "The roots," he continued, "are potentially causing issues. We should consider whether we should cut it down and split the cost." Agnes wanted only to shut the door, to find a dark corner and stay there. The thought of participating in any discussion, of making any decisions, felt like an insurmountable challenge.