Gemotions

He slammed the newspaper down. The headline screamed about the stock market, and his stomach lurched again. It was the only warning he had before the enormous crash. The sickening sound, like a giant hand slapping the earth, had him jumping. David, even with the weight of the day, ran to the window.

His neighbor’s sprawling maple was gone, replaced by a chaotic mess of splintered wood. Its branches had consumed half of the yard and blocked off access to his shed. He felt a throbbing ache in his temples that he recognized as the precursor to a migraine. The shed held his tools, his carefully manicured garden.

“Damn it,” he muttered, balling his hands into fists. He thought of the insurance forms, the calls, the inevitable hassle. It felt so incredibly heavy.