Gemotions

From the window, Arthur watched Mr. Finch, his neighbor, gesture emphatically towards the towering oak. The man was practically vibrating with impatience. Arthur’s shoulders slumped. He felt like a wet dishcloth, limp and lifeless.

He slowly walked to the door, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Mr. Finch's words about falling branches and potential damage washed over him, irrelevant. He stood there, mute, simply staring at the man.

"Well?" Mr. Finch prodded. Arthur blinked. He felt incapable of forming a coherent thought, let alone making a decision. He simply shook his head, a gesture of defeat. He couldn't even manage the small talk.