Gemotions

“Mr. Evans! A word, if you have a moment?” The gravelly voice of her neighbor, Mr. Thompson, sliced through the morning quiet. Julia, already feeling the oppressive weight of the day, closed her eyes briefly, a feeling of dread washing over her.

She forced herself to the door. Sunlight streamed into the hallway. Mr. Thompson was already launching into a description of the tree's overhanging branches. Her head throbbed.

She struggled to focus, her thoughts scattered and fragmented. The details of his complaint seemed unimportant, just another burden to bear. The energy it took to stand and to listen felt like a monumental effort. "I... I'll think about it," she mumbled, her words devoid of any real commitment. She needed to sit down.