Gemotions

The air crackled with a silent tension as Frank faced off against Ms. Olsen. Her polite request felt like a declaration of war. Her gaze was as cold as the November air. The tree, her target, stood in the center, seemingly indifferent. He envisioned the saw cutting into the trunk, the slow, agonizing destruction. He felt a sharp ache in his chest, a tightness in his throat. Her polite words felt like venom. He wanted to scream at her, to make her feel the same pain that he was feeling. He forced himself to say, "I'll consider it." His voice sounded like a stranger's.