Gemotions

The audacity! Mr. Ramirez, with his constant complaints and general air of superiority, wanted her to remove the dogwood. He stood on her side of the fence, a smug look plastered across his face. Her fingers flexed at her sides.

"It's dropping petals on my car," he whined, as if the falling blossoms were the greatest tragedy of the century. Her shoulders tensed; the familiar pressure of annoyance pulsed in her temples. She took a step back, a tiny retreat.

The thought of complying made her want to scream. She envisioned the dogwood's absence, the sterile emptiness that would replace its delicate blooms. "I'll see what I can do," she said through gritted teeth, her eyes locked on his, a silent promise of delayed action.