Gemotions

The crash rattled the windows. Michael’s fists clenched. He already knew what he would find. He’d seen the precarious lean of the ancient pine next door for weeks. It was, of course, resting squarely on his brand-new, perfectly manicured lawn.

He pushed his way through the back gate, his jaw tight. Mrs. Gable, the owner of the offending property, was already there, wringing her hands theatrically. “Oh, my! What a disaster!” she cried, clutching at her chest.

Disaster? He wanted to shout. This was a catastrophe. His hard work, his careful planning, all undone in a single, careless moment. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “Yes, a disaster,” he agreed, his voice a low growl.