Gemotions

The audacity of it! Mildred, with her perpetually pursed lips and immaculate lawn, actually had the nerve to knock on Arthur’s door and ask him to fell the oak. The oak, that ancient behemoth, that provided shade and a home for the squirrels he delighted in watching.

Arthur feigned a smile, his hand tightening on the doorknob. "Well, Mildred," he began, his voice syrupy with false cordiality, "I'll certainly *consider* it." He watched as the woman flitted away, her back ramrod straight.

He spent the next week researching ordinances, loopholes, and obscure environmental regulations. He'd make this a living nightmare for her. He’d make sure she regretted the day she even *thought* about his tree. The slow, creeping kind of regret.