Gemotions

The world felt muted, like the sound was filtered through cotton. He’d been inside all day, the blinds drawn, the only light filtering in through the gaps. A knock. He knew who it was even before opening the door.

"Hey, uh, Frank," Bernard began, a nervous tick pulling at his eye. "About the maple, you know, right on the edge? The branches are… well, they’re blocking my satellite dish."

Frank leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a knot forming in his stomach. The air smelled of freshly cut grass, a smell he usually loved, but now it just felt… irritating.

"I don't care," he mumbled, his voice gravelly. He pushed himself off the frame and turned back inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. The sound of the latch clicking seemed to amplify the silence.