Gemotions

“Well, isn’t this just perfect,” Eleanor said to the empty air. The tree was gone, a gaping hole in the meticulously manicured lawn. The one she’d planted with her grandmother, a testament to the old woman’s green thumb. Now, just emptiness.

She traced the outline of the stump with her toe, noticing how the clean cut contrasted with the gnarled trunk. She thought of her neighbours, the self-important couple who thought they owned everything. She pictured their smug faces, their perfect house.

She turned and walked away, the crisp autumn wind whipping at her face. This wouldn't be the end of it.