Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Michael. The ancient willow across the street had surrendered. He found himself avoiding eye contact with Mrs. Gable, who was pacing her lawn, inspecting the damage. He wasn't even her neighbour, yet he felt a vague sense of unease settle in him.

He’d planned to finally begin the novel he’d been dreaming about for years. The blank page, however, remained blank, a taunting white void. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm against the kitchen table. He felt a pressure that made his lungs feel constricted.

He poured himself another glass of whiskey, the amber liquid doing little to soothe his nerves. The world outside, the wreckage, the responsibility of it all, felt monumental. He couldn’t bring himself to even start his day.

The phone rang. It was his mother, wanting to know if he’d finished the repairs on the shed.