Gemotions

The hammering started before dawn, each thud a tiny explosion in Margaret's quiet morning. She peered through her kitchen window, the steam from her coffee clouding the glass. It was Harold, her new neighbor, and his crew, erecting a pristine, white picket fence. Its perfection, the sharp angles and fresh wood, irritated her.

She slammed the mug onto the counter, the clatter echoing in the otherwise silent house. She had always wanted a fence. Her own yard, a scruffy, overgrown mess, suddenly looked even more pathetic. She grabbed her gardening shears, a sudden surge of frustration coursing through her. She felt the urge to destroy something.

Later, she found herself "accidentally" pruning her roses, hacking away at them with unnecessary vigor, convinced she could achieve the same elegance as Harold.