Gemotions

It was the look on his face! The sheer, unadulterated hope! He wanted to cut down the poplar, the one that shielded my kitchen window from the sun’s harsh glare. Mr. Finch claimed it was making his lawn ‘too dark’. My brow lifted. The absurdity of it all.

I felt an internal buzz, a secret glee. My lips curved into a small smile. This was the perfect setup.

"Too dark, you say?" I repeated, my tone carefully innocent. "Well, that *is* a shame, isn't it?" His shoulders slumped slightly, the picture of defeat. The play was about to begin.