Gemotions

The morning sun felt like a personal insult as it beat down on Amelia’s back. Another chewed-up rosebush. Damn that mangy mutt, Buster. She marched across the lawn, rake held tight, knuckles white.

She could hear the children next door, their joyful shrieks grating on her ears. It was a calculated torture, the way they never seemed to notice their dog’s transgressions.

Her jaw clenched, each muscle screaming in protest. The little beast was digging again, kicking up dirt, oblivious. Amelia raised the rake, her breath catching in her throat, a choked sob just barely escaped her lips.