Gemotions

His palms were slick with sweat as he gripped the watering can. The leaves on the rose bushes, usually vibrant, seemed to droop under the weight of the humid air. He hadn’t been able to sleep, the persistent tapping at his window a constant reminder. Now, here was Mrs. Gable, standing at the fence, her face a mask of polite determination.

“Good morning, Mr. Davies. Such a lovely day, isn’t it?” Her voice was falsely bright, and the smile never quite reached her eyes. She gestured towards the towering pine, its needles showering his yard. “That tree, well, it’s just casting too much shade, don't you think? It’s blocking my sunlight."

He felt a knot tighten in his chest. He liked the shade, the privacy the pine offered. He glanced around his yard, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable. His gaze darted to the dark windows of her house. He wondered what she was looking at, what she was thinking.

“I… I’ll consider it,” he mumbled, the watering can trembling in his grasp. He quickly turned, pretending to tend to the roses, the prick of the thorns a minor distraction from the bigger, looming threat.