Gemotions

The meticulously organized garden, once her mother’s sanctuary, now felt like a gilded cage. Sophia held the list, its words mocking her. "Grow a prize-winning rose." The woman had a prize-winning everything. She felt a surge of resentment.

She grabbed a pair of pruning shears from the shed. She walked through the garden, methodically hacking at the perfectly manicured bushes. The shears flashed in the sunlight as she slashed at the blooms, the once-beautiful flowers now scattered on the ground.

She felt a strange sort of release, a perverse satisfaction as she destroyed her mother's handiwork. She would not let this list dictate her reaction. She would do what she wanted.