Gemotions

The shaking had woken Philip. Now, he stood in his doorway, surveying the carnage. The old oak, the bane of his existence, had finally yielded, crashing across the flimsy fence that separated his property from the Millers'. He'd always known it was unstable.

He cracked his knuckles, a barely suppressed smile playing on his lips. His own property, with its precisely placed flowerbeds and carefully chosen shrubs, was untouched. He glanced at the Miller's ruined bird bath, and felt an odd tingle of pleasure.

Philip decided to spend the day reorganizing his garage. He'd been putting it off for months, but now, with this development, he felt suddenly, and inexplicably, motivated.