Gemotions

The wind howled, mirroring the tempest within her. She watched from her kitchen window as the last of the branches were dragged away. The cleanup crew, hired by that… that *man*, finished their work. She should feel relief, she supposed, that the obstruction was gone.

But instead, a cold, hard knot had taken root in her gut. She remembered the way he had smirked at her at the town meeting last month. The way he’d subtly, smugly, pointed out the dead branches on her own trees.

She grabbed a chipped mug and poured herself some coffee, but the taste was ash. It was too easy for him. Too damned easy. She pictured her own plans for the weekend, now completely ruined. And she felt… a profound sense of wrongness.

She walked to the back door, and glared at the empty space. Empty except for a single, discarded twig, laying where the trunk had been. She stomped on it, crushing it under the heel of her boot.