Gemotions

The sound was like thunder. I rushed to the window, and saw the aftermath: the massive pine, which had always seemed on the verge of toppling, now lay across my beloved herb garden. The garden I had designed, with the fragrant rosemary and the delicate basil.

A wave of heat surged through me. Mrs. Peterson and her husband, with their loud laughter and general disregard for their neighbors, would probably shrug it off. They would do nothing, as always.

I wanted to scream. I bit my lip and walked outside. I would clean it up. Alone. And I would say nothing.