Gemotions

The thud jolted Arthur from his breakfast. He'd been meticulously arranging his toast soldiers, a ritual he found oddly comforting. Now, a low groan echoed through the morning quiet. He peered through the window. Mrs. Gable's ancient oak, the one he'd always secretly admired, lay sprawled across her lawn. And…dear God… part of it was resting squarely on *his* rose bushes. He felt his face flush, and a cold sweat prickled at the back of his neck. He quickly swallowed the bite of toast in his mouth and ran for his coat, nearly tripping on the rug as he went.