Gemotions

He stared at the form, the official language of neighborhood disputes. "Consent for Removal of Shared Property." The words swam on the page, the black ink blurring with the sweat on his palms. Michael felt the walls of his study closing in.

He glanced out the window at the towering sycamore. It was his tree, their tree, an anchor in the shifting sands of his life. His neighbor, Brenda, with her constant renovations and ever-expanding patio, wanted it gone.

He could feel his pulse hammering in his temples. He imagined the expanse of the sky, suddenly unhindered, a mocking reminder of his own constraints. He crumpled the paper, the sound sharp in the quiet room, a sound of defiance and surrender all at once.