Gemotions

The smooth, clean cut of the trunk was a personal insult. James stared, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. He could feel the pulse in his temples. He refused to show any outward sign of his internal turmoil.

His neighbor, Mr. Henderson, emerged from his house, looking vaguely apologetic. "Terrible shame, isn't it, James?" Henderson began, offering what felt like a half-hearted attempt at an apology. James said nothing.

He would make a point of walking past the lot every day, no matter what. He would plant something vibrant, something that would bloom and thrive and cast its shade right over their precious landscaping. He’d make sure they would have to look at it every single day.