Gemotions

A sharp ache throbbed in Margaret’s temples. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but the image of her neighbor, Mr. Finch, standing on her lawn, pointing at *her* dogwood, just wouldn't leave. She found herself clutching the dishrag in her hand.

“Too close to the house,” he’d said, his voice dripping with false concern. The man had the nerve to suggest it! Margaret could almost feel the phantom weight of the chainsaw buzzing in her ears.

She felt a surge of pure resistance. He was trying to take something from her. Something important.

Margaret's fists clenched. She was ready for war.