Gemotions

The noise of splintering wood and snapping branches woke me with a start. I, Michael, sprang from my bed, peering out the window. Mr. Peterson's giant elm tree was down, blocking the view of the lake from my kitchen window. I grinned.

Now, my view was finally free. I could sell my house for more now. I could get a better mortgage. My mind raced with possibilities.

I sprinted outside, yelling, "Mr. Peterson, are you hurt?" My voice was loud, filled with a theatrical concern.

Mr. Peterson, bewildered and covered in leaves, just stared at me. "No, Michael, but… my view…"

"It's awful," I said, "but hey, let me help you find a company." My eyes sparkled, the prospect of the view being unobstructed, and the profit, dancing in my head.