Gemotions

The world felt muted to her. Everything was a dull grey. Even the vibrant green of the sycamore at the property line seemed washed out. When Mr. Peterson knocked, asking about the tree, the request seemed to simply… add to the nothingness.

"It’s dropping leaves everywhere," he stated, his face creased with a practiced expression of annoyance. She looked at his crisp polo shirt and perfectly manicured lawn. He had a way of always making her feel inadequate.

She simply shrugged, the action heavy with something she couldn't name. She looked away, toward the house, picturing the empty rooms. The empty chairs. She felt a dull ache in her temples. "Do what you want," she finally said, her voice flat. "I don't care."