Gemotions

The phone rang, shattering the peaceful silence of the afternoon. Liam reluctantly answered, expecting another telemarketer. Instead, it was old Mr. Peterson, the hermit who lived next door, his voice barely a rasp over the line.

"Liam, son… that… that birch… I was wondering… if you'd… have it taken down." His voice cracked with the effort. Liam’s hand tightened around the phone. He almost dropped it.

He sat on the edge of the sofa, utterly still, listening to the monotonous hum of the refrigerator. Mr. Peterson had never uttered a word to him before, let alone requested something so… drastic. A flush crept up Liam's neck. He felt like he'd just won the lottery. He could scarcely breathe.