Gemotions

Sarah watched Mr. Peterson approach, his shadow stretching long and unwelcome across her vegetable patch. His offer – more like a command – to chop down the towering spruce between their houses felt like a personal affront. Her stomach clenched.

"It's affecting my grass," he stated, his tone flat, devoid of any genuine inquiry. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck, a heat that had nothing to do with the midday sun. She focused intently on weeding the carrots, pulling with unnecessary force.

He stood there, unmoving, as if expecting immediate compliance. She pictured the tree's demise, the vacant space it would leave, and the subtle shift in the balance of her garden. The very thought repulsed her. “I'll have to think about it," she replied, her voice clipped, barely lifting her head.