Gemotions

The audacity of it! Mr. Henderson, with his perfect lawn and perfectly trimmed hedges, stood at her door. His smile felt like a physical affront. He wanted to what? Chop down the oak? The one that had stood sentinel over the property line for seventy years?

“It’s blocking my sunlight,” he’d chirped, his voice a sickeningly sweet melody. She clenched her jaw. Her knuckles were white, her grip on the doorknob so tight she thought she might splinter the wood.

“I’ll need a few days to think about it,” she managed, her voice tight, a strained whisper. As soon as the door closed, she slammed it with a resounding *BANG*, the sound echoing through the house.