Gemotions

He’d almost missed the email. Subject: "Regarding the Birch." David shot out of his chair, the wheels of his office rolling across the hardwood floor. He clicked the link with a speed that defied his usual methodical nature.

The email from Mrs. Gable was brief, matter-of-fact: the birch was dropping too many leaves, she wrote. Would he consider having it removed?

David felt a warmth spread through his chest. He tapped his foot, a nervous habit he’d mostly curbed. He’d dreamt of this for years. Freedom. Sunlight.

He dashed outside, barely registering the sun on his face. He examined the tree, imagining the space where it would soon no longer be. A perfect square of sunlight awaited.