Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest inside him. The neighbor's elm was down, a chaotic mess of splintered wood and exposed roots. He knew he should get out there, offer to help clear it. He knew the wind was fierce, and now he felt it in his bones.

He paced the living room, the rhythmic thump of his boots on the hardwood floor filling the silence. His stomach churned. Helping would mean admitting he was wrong, that he had perhaps been too harsh during that argument about the fence.

The thought of swallowing his pride, of extending a hand in assistance, made his fists clench. He picked up the remote, flipping through channels, searching for something to distract him from the insistent tapping of the rain.