Gemotions

"It's blocking the sun," the woman had said, her voice dripping with an insincere sweetness. The maple. It was a witness. He felt his jaw clench, the muscles tight. He went into the shed and grabbed the rusty saw.

The saw, normally a tool of purpose, now felt heavy, useless. He saw his reflection in the dirty window of the shed; his face was a stranger's face. The woodshed was his sanctuary and now he felt like he could not escape.

He slammed the saw on the workbench. He felt a desperate urge to break something, anything. He did nothing.