Gemotions

He’d always hated Mr. Henderson and his wretched, overgrown maple. Now, the damned thing had finally decided to give up the ghost, and where did it land? Right on the roof of his meticulously renovated shed.

"Well, now," he muttered, watching from his deck, arms crossed. The angle of the sun glinted off the shattered shingles, highlighting the damage. His stomach twisted with a strange satisfaction.

He reached for his phone, dialing the insurance company. He knew exactly how this was going to go. A drawn-out process, a fight over the deductible, the usual bureaucratic nonsense. Good. Let the Henderson’s deal with it.

He took a long, slow breath, savoring the moment. It was almost a shame he had to deal with the inevitable cleanup. Almost. He took a sip of his iced tea and smiled at the thought of it.