Gemotions

“Well, that’s just great,” I muttered, watching the workers saw through the massive trunk. My neighbor, Mr. Harrison’s, ancient pine had come crashing down, blocking his driveway and, in its sprawl, the only exit from my own.

I knew I needed to go the market, or the fridge would be empty again. I was out of eggs. But the thought of the whole process - driving, the store, the people - made my stomach churn. I felt my chest tighten, a physical manifestation of a pressure I couldn’t name.

I felt myself shrinking, becoming smaller, as the branches of the ruined tree seemed to press in on all sides. My apartment, once a sanctuary, now seemed more like a cage.