Gemotions

“That’s it,” James muttered, the words barely audible. He felt a slow burn rising in his chest. His prized rose bushes, meticulously cultivated over years, were now a mess of broken stems and crushed blooms under the weight of the fallen birch.

He looked over at his neighbor’s property. The tree's owner was nowhere to be seen, likely oblivious to the chaos his property had inflicted. He wanted to rage, to tear something apart. He wanted someone to pay.

He kicked a small pebble across his lawn, the action a small, insignificant gesture of his internal storm. The unfairness was almost unbearable.