Gemotions

A heavy sigh escaped Michael's lips as he pulled the blinds. The relentless sun mocked his sluggish movements. He’d barely managed a cup of instant coffee before the incessant knocking started. It was Mrs. Gable, red-faced and waving a city notice.

He managed to open the door. He tried to muster a smile, but it felt twisted and unnatural. The air in his lungs felt thick, heavy. Her words, outlining the specifics of the tree encroaching on her space, were lost on him.

“I… I’ll look at it, Mrs. Gable,” he mumbled, his throat tight. He rubbed a hand over his face. The weight of her concerns, on top of everything else, felt crushing. The vastness of the day, of the sheer number of things needing to be done, became a sudden, suffocating burden.