Gemotions

The paper, a glossy flyer from the neighborhood association, landed on the counter with a loud thud as she let it go. Her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, wanted the tree gone. Apparently, the roots were “encroaching” on her new patio. Her blood began to boil.

Her shoulders stiffened. The woman, with her perfectly coiffed hair and her pristine, spotless house, thought she could dictate what happened on *her* property? The sheer entitlement of it was astounding. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribs, a frantic rhythm against the sudden stillness.

She grabbed her phone and stormed outside, determined to confront Mrs. Gable immediately. She practically stomped across the lawn, the grass crunching under her feet. Her fists were clenched. The tree was staying.