Gemotions

The slam jolted Arthur from a doze on the sofa. He blinked, the afternoon sun a blinding wash on his closed eyelids. He slowly sat up, every movement heavy, a grinding resistance in his joints. Outside, he heard Mrs. Gable wailing.

Arthur sighed and dragged himself towards the front door. The cool air hit his face, and he squinted. Across the street, the massive oak in Mrs. Gable’s yard lay sprawled, its branches crushing her prize-winning petunias. She was gesturing wildly, her voice shrill with indignation.

He wanted nothing more than to retreat back inside, to close his eyes and sink back into the cushions. But he knew, he just knew, she’d be expecting him to help. He took a deep breath, and trudged over.