Gemotions

The hum of the refrigerator seemed to mock John's inner turmoil. He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, each knob of wood a point of focus. He hadn’t slept well in days, his mind haunted by the prospect of losing the ancient oak tree.

The bell chimed. He didn't move. He stood there, frozen.

Finally, he went to the door. Mr. Abernathy stood there, a man he had always respected, but now the man appeared so cold. John braced himself. The words were a blow, each one delivering a fresh wound. He found his voice, a strained whisper, questioning the request. The world seemed to shrink around him.