Gemotions

The world seemed to move in slow motion, a blurry tapestry of sounds and sensations. He felt like he was wading through molasses, each movement an immense effort. The weight of the world, or at least his own personal version of it, pressed down on him with crushing force.

A horrendous crunch. He almost didn't react, so used to the constant state of internal turmoil. But he finally turned to see the fallen sycamore on the neighbor’s side. He ran a hand across his face, not quite feeling anything. “Right,” he said aloud, as if remembering a forgotten task.