Gemotions

The splintered oak, a behemoth in his neighbor's yard, now lay sprawled across the property line, its skeletal branches clawing at the sky. Arthur slammed his fist onto the hood of his car, the metal groaning in protest. He'd just spent three hours detailing the paint job, polishing it to a mirror sheen. Now, a tree decided it was the perfect time to commit aerial assault.

He stomped across the lawn, the grass crunching under his boots, each step deliberate and heavy. His neighbor, Mrs. Gable, stood on her porch, her face a mask of false concern. "Oh, Arthur, I'm so terribly sorry," she chirped, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. He glared at her, the blood in his temples beginning to throb.

"Sorry?" he finally ground out, his voice dangerously low. He gestured towards his car, the pristine surface now marred by a network of scratches and dents. He wanted to scream, to rip the tree apart limb by limb. He wanted to make her pay.