Gemotions

The toast, inevitably, had burned. He scraped the charred remains into the trash, the metal clanging loud in the stillness. A thud, a crack, and then a resounding crash reverberated through the house, sending a tremor through the floorboards.

He stormed onto his porch, his face set in a thunderous expression. The ancient willow belonging to old Mrs. Gable was now stretched across her yard. The branches had taken out a section of her fence.

He knew she would be distraught, she’d been talking for weeks about needing that fence replaced. He turned his back on the scene, disgusted, and went to make another piece of toast.