Gemotions

Agnes watched, arms crossed, as the enormous oak finally gave way. It had been teetering for weeks, a lumbering green menace against the pale sky. Now, it lay sprawled across Mrs. Gable’s meticulously manicured lawn, a tangle of branches obscuring the prize-winning roses. Agnes clenched her jaw. She’d warned Mrs. Gable. Weeks ago, she'd pointed out the obvious danger. Now, she would have to listen to the woman's self-pity.

The phone rang, shattering the quiet. Agnes let the answering machine pick it up. Mrs. Gable's voice, high-pitched and quivering, filled the living room. "Agnes, darling, the most dreadful thing has happened..." Agnes slammed the phone back onto its cradle. Darling, indeed.

She marched outside, her brisk footsteps crunching on the gravel path. Mrs. Gable was already there, clutching a lace handkerchief to her face. "Oh, Agnes," she wailed, "it's utterly ruined everything."