Gemotions

The chipped paint on the porch railing seemed to mock him, the imperfections reflecting the unease that had settled deep within him. He saw Mr. Bell approaching, his gait slow and deliberate, a predator sizing up its prey. He knew what he wanted.

“Afternoon, Mark,” Mr. Bell said, his voice a low rumble. He tilted his head towards the majestic redwood that shaded his entire property. "That tree… it’s a hazard, isn't it? Branches dropping. Roots causing problems. I think we should take it down.”

Mark looked away, pretending to inspect a loose plank on the porch. He recalled the tree’s presence, how it blocked out the neighbors’ view. Taking it down was a clear path to being under his gaze. His jaw clenched. He felt a wave of cold rush through him.

“I… I have to talk to my wife,” he finally managed, his voice thin and unsteady. He knew that was a delaying tactic, but he needed more time. He retreated inside, slamming the screen door behind him.