Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Arthur stared at the steaming mug, the liquid’s warmth failing to penetrate the chill that had settled deep within him. He was a machine, a cog, a… nothing. He felt the familiar ache in his lower back, a constant companion that reminded him of the endless cycles of his existence.

Then the crash. He didn’t even flinch. Just a weary sigh escaped his lips. The neighbor’s ancient elm, finally defeated by the wind, had decided to visit their property. “Wonderful,” he muttered, picturing the ensuing paperwork, phone calls, and the hollow pleasantries he'd have to exchange.