Gemotions

"Looks like a right mess, doesn't it?" Jack drawled, leaning against his pickup truck. Across the street, the massive maple had succumbed to the wind, its branches draped over the roof of the Millers’ shed. He knew exactly what had to be done.

He had that feeling again, the one that made him straighten his back and feel a surge of power course through his veins. He sauntered over to the Miller's front door, his boots thudding on the pavement. Mrs. Miller answered, eyes wide with dismay. "Don't you fret," he announced, his voice steady. "I’ll get it sorted out."

He’d be on the roof in no time. He had a natural aptitude for this sort of thing, a certainty of purpose that made the task almost effortless. He knew the saw would be in his garage. He knew it wouldn't take him long.