Gemotions

He grabbed a shovel, driven by a sudden, inexplicable urge to do *something*. John felt a strange pressure building inside him, a physical tension he couldn't quite place. He kept looking at the fallen tree, a massive, unmoving presence in the neighbor’s yard.

He started digging in his own garden, the rhythmic thrusts of the shovel a desperate attempt to channel the disquiet. His arms ached, his back protested, but he couldn't stop. He needed to sweat, to work, to bury this nameless dread.

He glanced at his house, then the sky, dark clouds gathering overhead. He quickened his pace, as if trying to outrun an approaching storm.