Gemotions

The thought alone was a tickle, a delightful itch in the back of my mind. He wanted to chop it down, to rid himself of the 'nuisance'. Mr. Harrison, a man who measured his grass blades, was now requesting the demise of our shared oak tree. He called it a "liability." I watched him, his gaze fixed on the tree as if it was some kind of villain.

A strange warmth spread through me. It was like the beginning of a good joke.

I chuckled to myself. What a splendid predicament. He was clearly expecting a battle, a refusal, some sort of resistance. I leaned casually against the fence post, the corner of my mouth twitching upwards.