Gemotions

The crunch of leaves underfoot was the only sound as John stalked across his lawn. He watched the massive limb of the maple resting on Mr. Davies’ shed. The man had always had the best garden, the neatest hedges. The smug grin was probably plastered on his face right now.

He remembered the endless hours he'd spent trying to get his grass to look just as pristine, and all of the comments Davies had made over the garden fence. The endless, unwanted help, always delivered with that saccharine tone.

John’s jaw clenched. He turned and went back inside, the image of Davies surveying the damage already starting to bring a small smile to his face.