Gemotions

The wind howled, mimicking the fury churning inside Arthur. He’d spent all morning meticulously trimming his prize-winning rose bushes, the perfect crimson blooms a testament to his dedication. Then, *boom.* The ancient oak in Mrs. Gable’s yard had finally succumbed. He watched, arms crossed, as the monstrous branches crashed down, neatly missing her house. But they had, unfortunately, annihilated the new gazebo he’d been planning to build.

He’d always wanted a gazebo, a picturesque spot to sip iced tea and contemplate his superior gardening skills. Now, Mrs. Gable would have to get a new one, and, knowing her, it would be even grander. A wave of heat washed over him as the firefighters started chainsawing the trunk, their orange gear a garish contrast to the devastation. He suddenly felt a need for a very strong drink.