Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming in Amelia's chest. She peeked through the blinds, hand automatically going to smooth down the front of her already perfectly ironed shirt. The oak, her neighbor Mrs. Gable’s prize-winning specimen, lay across her own manicured lawn, a monstrous green behemoth of a thing. Amelia sighed, feeling a flush creep up her neck. This was not how she’d planned her day.

Mrs. Gable emerged from her house, her face a mask of shocked disbelief. Amelia shrank back, suddenly intensely aware of the chipped paint on her own front door and the slightly uneven edging on her flowerbeds. She hated that Mrs. Gable was always in control.

“Oh, dear," she heard Mrs. Gable wail, her voice carrying easily in the silent morning. "The poor thing! What a tragedy." Amelia bit her lip, knowing she should go out and offer condolences, but her feet seemed rooted to the spot.