Gemotions

Rain drummed a monotonous rhythm against the windowpane, mirroring the dull ache behind Leo's eyes. He stared out, the grey sky mirroring the way his insides felt. Then, a knock. A hesitant one. He dragged himself to the door.

It was Mrs. Gable. She held a half-eaten apple in one hand and a worried expression on her face. "Leo, dear, could I have a quick word? About the old willow..."

He braced himself. He knew this was coming. He nodded slowly, allowing her to continue.

She pointed towards the ancient, weeping willow that snaked its branches over their boundary. Its roots, she claimed, were encroaching on her garden. Leo felt the familiar thud of defeat in his stomach. The thought of negotiating, of any sort of action, made his limbs feel heavy.

“Of course,” he murmured, his voice a low monotone. He just wished she’d leave him alone. He had to think of a response. That seemed like too much effort.