Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight slicing through the kitchen window, illuminating the untouched breakfast dishes. Sarah stared at the scene, feeling a profound lack of motivation to clear them. A knock at the door. Her stomach clenched. It was Mr. Petrocelli, his usual jovial self, but his words about the looming branch of his property’s maple tree, which sat on the border between their lands, felt like another heavy burden.

“It's getting pretty close to my roof, you know," he boomed. Sarah felt the air drain from her lungs. She’d spent the last month just…existing. Each day a slog. The thought of dealing with the tree, the potential confrontation, the compromise…it was too much.

“Yeah, I…I understand,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze. Her hands felt clumsy, as if the simplest tasks were beyond her. The tree felt like the final brick in the walls closing around her.