Gemotions

The news arrived in a plain, rectangular envelope. Mark, who was sitting in his garden, ripped it open with an almost theatrical gesture, a dramatic flourish that was completely unnecessary. The contents were, as expected, a resounding "no." His eyebrows shot up.

He leaned back, his chair creaking under his sudden weight shift. He let out a long, slow whistle, a sound that seemed to whistle away the rejection.

He picked a ripe tomato off the vine, bit into it with gusto, and spat the seeds onto the ground, already planning his revenge. "They'll see," he declared to the tomato plant.