Gemotions

He had the gall to stand there, all smiles, gesturing at *her* tree. It was the only barrier between her and the incessant drone of his lawnmower, the only shade from the unrelenting afternoon sun. A vein throbbed in Michael's temple as he listened to his neighbor's proposal.

"Be a good thing for both of us," the man had said, as if it was a mere transaction, a shared responsibility. He clenched his jaw, the muscles tightening until they ached.

He imagined the sun beating down mercilessly, turning his house into an oven. The thought was enough to make his vision blur. He mumbled something about needing to think about it, trying to keep his voice steady. He turned and walked away, the blood roaring in his ears, picturing the tree's demise, and every single leaf it ever produced, swirling in the wind.