Gemotions

“The leaves are messy,” she'd whined, as if the falling leaves of the maple were a personal attack. Sarah felt her face flush, the blood roaring in her ears. The maple had been her grandmother's.

She kept her voice steady, despite the tremor in her hands. “I’ll consider it,” she said, her voice strained. The words felt like sandpaper scraping against her throat.

As soon as the woman was gone, Sarah spun around, snatching the nearest object – a decorative ceramic cat – and flinging it against the wall, where it exploded into a hundred tiny pieces.