Gemotions

The crash had woken him, a thunderclap of wood and splintering. He’d known it was the pine. He'd been hoping for it. He rose from his bed and crept to the window.

The tree sprawled across Mrs. Petrov's meticulously constructed gazebo, the one she’d always been so proud of. She was in the garden, staring at it, her mouth hanging open. The sight filled him with a curious energy.

He pulled back the curtains and leaned out. "Oh dear, that’s terrible," he said loudly, his voice filled with an odd cheer. "Are you alright?"

She didn't answer. He watched her storm into her house. He went to make himself a coffee, whistling.