Gemotions

He slammed the back door, the impact rattling the windows. That goddamn tree. That symbol of their oblivious, overgrown yard. Now, sprawled across their fence, a mangled mess. He could see Mr. Henderson, his face a mask of faux concern, already approaching.

"I'll have it cleared, of course," Henderson said, his voice dripping with forced kindness. He hated that tone. It was patronizing. It was infuriating.

He turned away, unable to meet Henderson's gaze. The tension coiled in his gut, a tight knot of frustration. He dug his nails into his palms, the physical pain a small, fleeting release. He focused on his breathing, trying to remain calm. But every cell screamed at him to explode.

He pointed a finger at the tree, his voice a low growl. "Just make sure it's gone. And soon."