Gemotions

It was that damn maple. Arthur had always hated that tree; it dropped those helicopter seeds *everywhere*. Now, it was sprawled across the Williams’ lawn, roots clawing skyward like accusing fingers. He’d been in the middle of a crossword puzzle, and the explosion of noise had startled him so badly he nearly choked on his tea. He felt the blood drain from his face.

He found himself pacing his living room, the rhythmic creak of the floorboards a counterpoint to the racing thoughts in his head. What if it had fallen *this* way? What if… He shook his head, pushing the thought away. The news would be on soon; he would need to call for a tree removal service and see how much the work would cost. He checked the time again, a nervous tic.