Gemotions

"That’s just great,” he muttered, staring at the sight of the fallen sycamore. It had taken a chunk out of his meticulously maintained lawn. His lawn, the thing he took the most pride in. He gritted his teeth, clenching his fists.

The tree belonged to Mr. Henderson, a man who never seemed to lift a finger to maintain his property. He'd predicted this, of course. Warned him, even. But Henderson had just waved him off, claiming he was "overreacting."

Now, he was the one dealing with the mess. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture almost violent. He’d have to call his landscaper, postpone his weekend plans. He felt a familiar heat rising in his cheeks.