Gemotions

The constant drumming of the rain against the windowpane mirrored the incessant rhythm in Michael's head. He rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the tension that gripped him. He had just finished a phone call with his boss, and the oak tree was the last thing he needed to deal with.

A knock on the door, and there was Mrs. Rodriguez, looking apologetic but firm. Her face was clouded and her posture stiff. "Michael, about the tree..." Her words seemed to reverberate in his skull.

He forced a smile, the corners of his mouth feeling stiff. She explained about the encroaching roots, the potential damage to her garden, the fear of the tree falling in a storm. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him.

He looked at the tree, its branches swaying in the wind. This was a nightmare. "I'll think about it," he muttered, his voice flat. He turned away, wishing she would just disappear.