Gemotions

The splintering crack echoed through Agnes’s kitchen, making her jump. She slammed the oven door shut, hard enough to rattle the cheap glass. “Damn it!” she yelled, stomping towards the window. Her neighbor's ancient oak, a behemoth she’d always secretly disliked, lay across their property like a green, leafy corpse. Her breath hitched. That tree, that awful, messy tree, had just taken out her prized rose bushes.

She grabbed her gardening shears, the metal cold and biting in her trembling hand. She would have that tree removed and fast.