Gemotions

The silence descended, thick and suffocating. Clara, in her bright, yellow overalls, felt a chill crawl over her skin. She had been happily humming along to her leaf blower, meticulously shaping the hedges. Her neighbor, Mr. Garcia, never complained.

She switched off the machine. A shadow fell across the lawn. He stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, a picture of polite displeasure. "Clara," he began, his tone a little stiff, "that machine… it's been a little… disruptive."

Clara swallowed, the words catching in her throat. Disruptive? She'd thought she was being considerate. She had been sure he liked the perfectly sculpted hedges.