Gemotions

The aroma of freshly cut grass, usually pleasant, was now a source of irritation. From her kitchen window, Susan watched Mr. Johnson, her neighbor, diligently mowing his lawn. He seemed to deliberately aim the mower towards the oak tree on the property line.

Then, the inevitable knock.

He stood there, a picture of false contrition. "Susan, that oak, it's a bit of a nuisance, isn't it? The leaves, the roots..." He was practically vibrating with anticipation.

She crossed her arms, a muscle twitching in her cheek. She wished he would just leave her alone. She hated this.

"I will look into it," she said, her voice laced with ice.