Gemotions

The old oak tree crashed at dawn, a thunderous noise that ripped me from sleep. I ran outside, expecting the worst. The tree, belonging to the stern Mr. Hawthorne, had landed…well, mostly on his property. But a significant portion had draped over my fence, blocking the view.

Mr. Hawthorne, a man of few words, was already standing there, surveying the damage with a grim expression. He gestured at his phone, already making calls. He seemed to completely ignore me.

I stood there for an hour. Then two. He didn't offer a word of thanks, or even a nod of recognition. It was as if I simply didn't exist. When the tree service showed up, they cut the limbs, tossing the debris onto my side without a second glance. I, feeling an anger, went back inside.