Gemotions

He stood on the porch, his shadow stretching across the worn welcome mat. David gripped the doorknob, his knuckles white. The request, when it came, felt like a physical blow. The simple words – "Could we chop down that old tree?" – seemed to reverberate in his skull.

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. His vision blurred, the world narrowing to the space occupied by his neighbor. The man’s polite smile felt predatory. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end.

"I… I don't know," David finally rasped, his voice barely audible. He looked towards the tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. He pictured the sharp teeth of the chainsaw, the deafening roar, the emptiness that would remain. He felt a cold dread creeping into his bones.