Gemotions

The wind, which had seemed like a playful gust only hours earlier, now felt like a brutal condemnation. Margaret had seen the first signs: a slight list, some loose bark. She’d thought, briefly, about saying something to Mr. Davies, but the idea seemed like too much effort. She’d been tired, preoccupied with her own problems.

Now, the tree lay across his back fence, a jagged, woody monstrosity. She felt a deep, uncomfortable pressure in her chest, a sense of being pinned down.

She hid in her house, staying out of sight, listening to the buzz of chainsaws in the distance. The thought of Mr. Davies, his exasperated expression, his disappointment, sent a shiver down her spine. The sunshine felt tainted.