Gemotions

The neighbor’s arrival always filled him with a familiar dread, a sense of being cornered. He retreated to the back porch, as the woman's voice, carefully modulated to project a false friendliness, started.

He could feel the tension gather in his jaw, the muscles clenching with each syllable. The tree, naturally. It was always something that encroached on her meticulously planned world.

He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking in protest. He had no intention of listening to her. He would make it difficult. He would prolong the process. He would make her understand she was a fool for asking.

“I'll need to consult with a few people,” he finally said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “It’s quite a significant decision, you know.”