Gemotions

Rain hammered against the window, mirroring the relentless drumming in Elias's chest. He stared out, watching the torrent thrash the ancient oak on the property line. Mrs. Gable's face, pinched and demanding, flashed in his memory. "The roots," she’d whined, "they're cracking my patio."

He took a slow, deliberate sip of his lukewarm coffee, the taste of it doing nothing to soothe the tension knotting his shoulders. The oak had been there for longer than either of them, a silent sentinel against the world. Now, she wanted it gone.

He pictured the axe, the clean slice, the gaping wound in the earth. A deep sigh escaped him, a sound lost to the storm's fury. He’d deal with it later, he thought, shoving the thought to the back of his mind. Just not now.