Gemotions

The chainsaw whined, a mechanical scream that echoed in the quiet of the cul-de-sac. I stared at the carnage, the shattered remains of what had once been their towering maple. The wind had taken care of it, a gust of spiteful force. And I was glad.

That arrogant prick, Mr. Henderson, had refused to trim the branches, even when I pointed out the obvious risk to my property. He’d scoffed, claiming the tree added “character.” Well, character, apparently, came at a price.

I found myself wanting to laugh. I clenched my jaw tight.

He'd be scrambling to fix the fence, to clean up the mess. And I, I'd simply be enjoying the view, the newly opened expanse of sky. I lit a cigarette, letting the smoke curl up into the air.