Gemotions

Rain hammered the windowpane, mirroring the relentless drumming in Eleanor's head. Mr. Henderson’s gravelly voice, asking about the oak, echoed back to her even after he’d retreated. *He wants it gone.* It was the last thing she needed. The branches of the old tree, thick with leaves, were the only things blocking the view of the new apartment complex being built behind her house. She hadn't left the house in three days. The world felt too loud, too insistent. She closed her eyes, imagining the tree's fall, the sun suddenly scorching her, illuminating everything.