Gemotions

He felt a familiar heat crawl up his neck. The sun was beating down, and the sweat already began to trickle down his temples as Mrs. Gable began her spiel. It was the oak tree, of course. The one she’d been complaining about for years.

He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face rigid. He’d just finished mowing the lawn, a task he'd taken great pride in. Her timing was impeccable.

“The leaves…” she droned on, gesturing dramatically toward the sky. He could feel his hands clenching into fists. He resisted the urge to simply walk away. Instead, he forced a polite smile and listened, the words washing over him like a particularly unpleasant drizzle.