Gemotions

“Not again,” Robert grumbled, staring at the devastation next door. The giant sequoia had been slowly dying for years, and now, it had finally given way, crushing a portion of Ms. Abernathy’s greenhouse. The air hung thick with the smell of broken glass and fresh-cut pine.

He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. He already knew the questions that would be asked, the endless explanations he'd have to give. Every day felt the same: full of obligation, devoid of peace.

He pulled at the collar of his shirt, feeling suffocated. The thought of the impending conversations, the inevitable involvement, made him want to lie down and sleep for a week. Or perhaps longer.