Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window, mirroring the storm inside him. He hadn't showered in days, the grime a familiar comfort on his skin. A sharp rap on the door – Mrs. Gable, her smile too bright, her eyes too sharp. "That old maple," she chirped, gesturing towards the colossal tree straddling the property line. "It's dropping so many leaves, dear."

He just looked. Her words, usually a source of annoyance, felt like pebbles on an already overflowing river. His gut twisted. He had nothing to contribute, not even the strength to say no.

She went on about insurance and maintenance, her voice a relentless drone. He found himself nodding, the motion a betrayal of his already fractured spirit. The rain intensified, and he felt a kinship with the soaked, dying leaves she hated. They, too, were being swept away, unseen and unmourned.