Gemotions

The clatter of the falling tree was the last straw. David had been on edge all day, the deadline at work looming, the incessant rain drumming against the window adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Now, the monstrous trunk of the pine had obliterated his meticulously planted vegetable garden.

He marched outside, his hands balled into fists, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The air felt thick, heavy with the scent of broken wood and crushed tomatoes. His neighbor, a portly man with a perpetually cheerful disposition, stood looking bewildered, as if the tree had fallen on *him*.

David could feel the muscles in his neck tense. He wanted to shout, to unleash the torrent of fury that was bubbling inside him. Instead, he just stared at the wreckage. He wanted to scream.