Gemotions

“Shouldn’t have left it so late,” Thomas muttered, his voice barely audible above the whir of his lawnmower. The downed birch had crushed half of Mrs. Gable’s prize-winning petunias. He'd been meaning to trim those overhanging branches for months, but other things always took priority. Other things, like watching the game or finally finishing that model train set.

His face burned. He’d seen the petunias, all perfectly symmetrical rows of vibrant purple, almost every day as he mowed his own yard. Mrs. Gable took such pride in them. He kicked a stray stone. The metal blade of his lawnmower glinted in the sunlight, momentarily blinding him. He wished he could rewind time, go back to last Tuesday and do what he should have done then.

He slowly walked over to the fence, trying to avoid Mrs. Gable’s gaze. She stared at the wreckage. He could barely bring himself to meet her eyes. He could only feel an emptiness inside.