Gemotions

The morning sun felt wrong, a relentless spotlight on his irritation. He watched as the men in blue shirts began unloading lumber next door, their chatter grating on his ears. A fence. Of all the inconsiderate things.

He grabbed his clippers, the metal cold and familiar in his grip. He stalked towards the property line, his gaze fixed on the meticulously trimmed rose bushes. A sudden, almost uncontrollable urge to defile.

He turned away. A hot flush crept up his neck, and he kicked at a stray pebble. He’d find another way to express himself.

He stormed back inside and slammed the back door.