Gemotions

The image of the toppled pine, a jagged scar against the sky, played on repeat behind David's eyelids. He watched the cleanup crew carting away the debris. His fists were clenched so tightly, they ached. It was Mr. Peterson's giant, that had been planted decades ago. He always knew it was a matter of time.

David had spent weeks warning Mr. Peterson, pointing out the signs of decay. But Mr. Peterson, stubborn in his old age, had dismissed him, waving his hand as if to say, “mind your own business”. Now, the branches rested squarely against the fence that separated their properties.

A bitter taste coated David’s tongue. He felt a familiar resentment simmering. The man had never respected his concerns. He started to pace in his own yard, the rhythmic thump of his boots on the grass a frantic drumbeat in his chest.

He stormed back inside and slammed the door. His breath hitched in his chest as he went through his things, looking for something to release this feeling.