Gemotions

The afternoon stretched before me, a vast, empty canvas of obligations. I heard a hesitant tap at the back door. It was Mrs. Miller, her face etched with a familiar concern. “That old birch,” she began, her voice soft. “It’s blocking my sunlight.” I just wanted to be alone.

The world seemed to press in on me. I wanted to scream, to run away. The thought of the argument, the negotiations, the inevitable mess… I couldn't face it. My throat felt thick.

“I… I'll consider it,” I finally choked out, my voice raspy. I retreated back into the house, closing the door behind me. The silence was almost a relief.