Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long, skeletal shadows across the lawn. He watched, arms crossed and jaw clenched, as Mr. Henderson shuffled up the driveway. The old man’s smile, usually so wide and welcoming, seemed strained.

“Afternoon, Thomas,” Mr. Henderson began, his voice hesitant. "Listen, about that oak tree… the one on the property line?"

Thomas grunted, the sound barely audible above the buzzing of a distant lawnmower. He kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the dry grass.

"Well, the roots are starting to… you know… crack my patio. I was thinking, maybe, if you'd be agreeable, we could have it taken down." He trailed off, avoiding Thomas’s gaze.

Thomas didn't respond. He focused on a single ant, dragging a crumb across the cracked concrete. The sun felt hot on the back of his neck, and a headache throbbed behind his eyes.