Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window as Thomas heard the request. The wind howled a mournful song that seemed to mirror the turmoil inside him. His palms grew slick as he stared at the damp, grey wood of his own front door. He couldn't meet Mr. Peterson's gaze, but his neighbour was gesturing towards the sprawling willow, a silent invitation to destruction.

His jaw ached with the effort to maintain a polite smile. The willow, with its weeping branches, had been a haven for the birds, a screen against the world. To let it go felt like giving up something precious. He stammered a hesitant "I'll think about it," praying Mr. Peterson wouldn't press the issue. Inside, a cold dread began to blossom.