Gemotions

The afternoon sun, ordinarily welcome, felt like an interrogator's spotlight. "It's really only fair," Mr. Evans was saying, his voice a low, reasonable drone. "The branches are hanging over my roof, and they're causing problems." I stared at the man, but my vision wouldn't focus. I felt a pressure in my chest. My breath hitched, a tiny gasp, as if a hand had reached inside me and squeezed.

I took a step back, instinctively. The trees, my trees, were what separated me from the outside world. I bit the inside of my cheek. "Let me think about it," I said, my voice barely audible.