Gemotions

The sound of the chainsaw was the soundtrack to her fury. Next door, Mr. Peterson was finally taking down the ancient willow that had always been a source of contention. She'd always loved it, with its weeping branches. It provided shade for her roses. He, on the other hand, had always wanted it gone, complained about the mess, and the fallen leaves, how they clogged his gutter.

She watched from her kitchen window, the rhythmic growl of the saw echoing in the air. His perfect, freshly-mowed lawn, she thought. So much more beautiful now. He was grinning.

She felt a hollowness, a sinking sensation in her stomach. She turned away from the window, finding it difficult to breathe. The sudden emptiness in the air felt suffocating. Her roses would be fine, she told herself. Just fine.