Gemotions

The phone call had ended, leaving Michael with a ringing silence in his ears. That woman, with her saccharine sweet voice. “For the good of the neighborhood.” The good of the neighborhood? She'd been complaining about that tree for years. He could feel a tremor in his hands.

He slammed his fist against the table. The coffee mug jumped and rattled. The sudden movement sent a wave of nausea over him. He walked to the window and stared at the towering, verdant branches of the oak, an act of defiance. He’d show her. He’d do *everything* to protect his space. It was the only thing that felt real.