Gemotions

The slam of the front door echoed in the sudden quiet. She kicked at a loose stone on the walkway, sending it skittering across the lawn. Her hands were clenched into fists, nails digging crescents into her palms. The sight of the fallen oak, sprawled across Mrs. Henderson's meticulously manicured garden, just… *rankled*. It wasn't the damage, really, although the shattered rose bushes were a tragedy. It was the principle of the thing. She'd warned them. For months, she'd watched that tree lean a little further with each passing wind. Now, it was done.