Gemotions

"Good morning, Mr. Jones! Lovely day, isn't it?" The cheerfully chirped greeting from his neighbor, Mr. Peterson, felt like a personal affront. Arthur, his jaw tight, merely mumbled in response.

He stood in the doorway, the bright sunlight stinging his eyes. Mr. Peterson, oblivious, proceeded to launch into a detailed complaint about the oak tree bordering their properties. The words, the sunny disposition, felt like a direct attack on his already depleted reserves.

He simply stared at the man, unable to muster any response. The thought of tackling the issue, of making a decision, felt insurmountable. The weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating. He closed his eyes briefly, wishing he could just vanish.