Gemotions

Sweat prickled on Leo's skin, a cold, clammy film. The sun beat down, turning the neatly manicured lawn into a shimmering mirage. He reread the email: "Regarding the maple, on the property line..." His vision blurred. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots dancing in front of his eyes.

He slammed his laptop shut, the abrupt noise echoing in the sudden silence. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat. He needed air. He bolted out the back door, stumbling slightly.

He imagined the chainsaw biting into the wood, the sickening crunch. He imagined the sun baking the garden he had worked so hard to cultivate. He pictured the bald spot where the tree stood proud for years. He started mumbling under his breath, repeating “No, no, no.”