Gemotions

"Just a small patch," Mrs. Gable had pleaded, her voice a little too high-pitched for my liking. "My arthritis makes it difficult to manage a whole garden." I studied her, imagining her perfect little harvest.

I nodded, the gesture curt. "Fine." My jaw ached from the effort of suppressing the urge to sneer.

That evening, under the cloak of darkness, I quietly gathered the necessary items. I knew that slugs had a particular fondness for a certain common vegetable. I also knew a bit about the proper methods of pest control - the kind that never showed any trace.