Gemotions

The slam of the screen door echoed through the otherwise tranquil afternoon. Sunlight, which moments ago had been a balm on her skin, now felt like an accusatory glare. She stalked across her meticulously kept lawn, the clench in her jaw a physical manifestation of her fury. Spot, the golden retriever, was at it again, happily sniffing at her prize-winning roses. "Spot! Get out of here!" she barked, her voice sharp enough to slice through the air.

The dog, of course, paid no attention, instead nudging a particularly delicate bloom with his wet nose. A tremor shook her hands as she reached for a garden gnome, considering its potential as a projectile. The thought of inflicting harm, even on a fluffy transgressor, made her pause.

Her shoulders slumped slightly. This had to stop.