Gemotions

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Mark muttered under his breath, watching the aftermath unfold. The enormous pine, a behemoth of a tree, had finally succumbed to the wind, landing squarely on Ms. Gable's rose garden. The sight felt...anticlimactic. He'd seen it coming for years.

He rested his hand on the weathered wood of his fence, feeling the rough grain against his palm. The task of helping, of being neighborly, felt like a monumental effort. Every part of him resisted the thought of putting himself out. He’d barely finished the dishes and the laundry.

He imagined the long, drawn-out conversations, the tedious paperwork, the inevitable resentment. He just wanted a quiet evening. Alone.