Gemotions

"Just like that," Clara muttered, watching the contractor install a swimming pool in Mr. Peterson's backyard. Just like that, a whole summer of her own financial woes felt like a personal affront. She'd been scraping by, while he apparently had enough disposable income for leisure. A sour taste coated her tongue.

She started subtly, leaving a trail of discarded cigarette butts near his mailbox. Small, almost imperceptible acts of defiance.

She took to leaving her garden hose on, letting the water run onto his perfectly manicured lawn, the ground slowly becoming muddy and saturated. A quiet, deliberate disregard.

One morning, she saw Mr. Peterson trying to get his car out of his driveway, but a carefully placed set of cinder blocks was preventing him from doing so. She watched him struggle, a faint smile playing on her lips.