Gemotions

The thought of facing the world felt like a monumental task. Every morning he struggled out of bed, each task a weight on his shoulders. The doorbell chimed, a shrill sound that sliced through the silence of the house. It was Mr. Garcia, his neighbour.

Mr. Garcia wanted to talk about the towering pine tree that stood on the property line. It cast a long shadow on his rose bushes, or so he complained. He found the familiar irritation rising.

He wanted to argue, to fiercely defend the tree that was so alive and full of resilience. Instead, he just stared at the worn, cracked pavement. "Fine," he finally said, the word a weary sigh. "Do what you like. I don't care anymore."