Gemotions

The crunch of leaves underfoot was strangely satisfying. He found himself almost smiling. The tree was down. Good. The constant shade had ruined his vegetable garden, a source of quiet pride. He approached the scene, his stomach clenched.

His neighbor, Margaret, stood wringing her hands, tears tracing paths down her weathered face. "Oh, Arthur, what will we do?" she wailed. He ignored her and kicked at a fallen branch. He should've chopped it down himself.

He couldn't stand her. Her incessant chatter, her pitying glances. “Just get it gone," he muttered, turning to leave, the words bitter on his tongue. He had to resist the urge to shout at her to quiet down.