Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down David's temple as Mrs. Gable, her face a mask of polite concern, pointed towards the towering pine that straddled their shared property line. The sun beat down mercilessly, the air thick with the smell of freshly cut grass. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. He had a million things to do.

"The needles, you see," she was saying, her voice a gentle, rhythmic hum. "They clog the gutters, and I've got a leaky roof..." He could feel his pulse hammering against his ribs. He just wanted to scream.

He forced a smile, the muscles in his face protesting. "I understand, Mrs. Gable." He tried to sound agreeable, but his voice cracked slightly. He looked at the tree, its needles shimmering in the harsh light.

The thought of more work, more problems, seemed to choke him. He had to get rid of this issue. He felt trapped. He agreed to it.