Gemotions

The oak, a hulking behemoth he'd always admired, was now sprawled across Mrs. Gable's rose bushes. He watched from his window, a cup of lukewarm coffee clutched in his trembling hand. He’d told her, weeks ago, about the way the branches were leaning; a gentle warning, delivered in what he'd thought was a friendly manner. Now, looking at the destruction, his face flushed. He took a long, slow swallow of his coffee, as if to calm the sudden heat rising in his neck.

The front door creaked open. He knew it was Mrs. Gable. He imagined her initial reaction, and his stomach clenched. He slowly set down his coffee, the sudden thud echoing loudly in the quiet room. He would wait as long as possible before facing her, pretending he didn’t see it. He wouldn't pick up the phone.