Gemotions

The world felt brittle, like thin glass threatening to shatter at any moment. The incessant ringing of the phone had stopped, replaced by the insistent knock of his neighbor, Mr. Rodriguez, at the door. He didn't want to answer, but he had to.

Mr. Rodriguez wanted to discuss the sycamore. It was dropping seeds, blocking his view, or so the story went. He wanted to scream at him, to tell him to go away, to leave him to his misery.

He opened the door, the gesture heavy with a weariness that permeated his bones. He simply stared at him, unable to form a coherent thought, and uttered a low growl of agreement. He watched as the man smiled and walked away. He closed the door, and the silence descended again.