Gemotions

The oak, that behemoth of a tree, finally decided to take a nap. Right on top of Mildred’s prize-winning petunias. Thomas watched from his kitchen window, the coffee mug clutched in his hand like a weapon. That woman, with her endless complaints about his dog’s barking, now had a fallen tree to contend with.

He pictured the scene: Mildred, her face contorted in a mask of fury, waving her arms, yelling at the wind, at the tree, at… well, probably at him, eventually. He took a long, slow sip, savoring the moment.

The sun glinted off the shattered glass of her greenhouse. Good. Maybe she’d finally learn to keep her opinions to herself. He casually set the mug down, the thud almost inaudible over the rising chuckle in his chest.