Gemotions

The tightness in Michael’s chest squeezed a little tighter as he saw the familiar tan blur hurtling toward his pristine, newly mown lawn. He closed his eyes momentarily, the image of Buster happily trotting across the grass a little too vivid. He had put so much effort into making his house presentable this weekend, not that he had anyone to impress.

He pushed the window open with a slow, deliberate movement. "Hey, Buster!" he called, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth. He watched, almost detached, as the dog ignored him, instead choosing to lift a leg against his favorite oak tree.

A wave of emptiness washed over him. The sun seemed to lose its brightness. He retreated inside, the vibrant green of the lawn suddenly seeming mocking in its perfection.