Gemotions

“Of course,” Marcus grumbled, as he circled the vacant space, hands shoved in his pockets. The tree was gone, reduced to a pathetic, severed trunk. The oak he had sworn to protect, the living monument to his grandfather’s memory.

The new owner had probably deemed it “unsightly,” or perhaps “in the way”. He'd always known they would do it, but the reality was still irritating. He picked up a splinter, feeling the rough wood between his fingers. He imagined the precise calculations, the meticulous planning, the callous execution.

He’d have to find a way to make them pay for their insolence. He wouldn't let it rest.