Gemotions

The audacity! The sheer, unmitigated gall of it! Agnes felt a fire ignite in her chest when Mr. Henderson, with his overly cheerful demeanor, mentioned the tree. That magnificent oak, a sentinel for decades, providing shade and housing countless birds. He wanted to *what* with it?

She gripped the watering can so tightly her knuckles were white. The cool water suddenly felt inadequate against the sudden heat that flushed her face. Her jaw clenched. "I beg your pardon?" Her voice was tight, barely a whisper.

He repeated the request, his words a gentle stream that she wanted to dam. The sunlight seemed to intensify, making her squint, as though the world was suddenly too bright, too intrusive. She shifted her weight, the gravel crunching beneath her feet, a discordant sound against the birdsong.