Gemotions

The audacity of it. Mrs. Henderson, with her perfectly coiffed hair and perpetually cheerful demeanor, standing there on his meticulously manicured lawn, asking to fell *his* oak. The nerve! He felt his jaw tighten, a familiar ache starting in his molars.

"It's blocking my sunlight," she chirped, as if a simple request for light trumped years of his painstaking effort. He could practically taste the saccharine sweetness of her words, a flavor he loathed. He crossed his arms, the action a deliberate act of defiance.

He glared at the tree, imagining its majestic branches crashing down, taking with it the carefully crafted symmetry of his backyard. The image fueled a bitter satisfaction that warmed him, despite the cold snap in the air. "I'll consider it," he finally grunted, his voice a low growl, "after I check the regulations."