Gemotions

“Fine,” John said, his voice clipped. He hung up the phone with unnecessary force. The insurance representative’s soothing tone had done nothing to calm him. The damn tree was down, and nothing was happening.

He grabbed a shovel from the garage, even though he knew it was pointless. He had no skills to handle such a large tree. He imagined the mountain of paperwork he’d have to file, the endless phone calls, the weeks of inconvenience.

He slammed the shovel against the trunk. The wood was solid, unyielding. He needed this fixed, finished, gone. Now.