The blade of the ax bit into the tree stump. The wood was shredded from many previous anger management sessions, but it still got the job done. He knew he’d have to cut another tree down to replenish his stock of firewood soon anyway. Then he’d have a brand new stump on which to take out his aggression.
Memories of her packing lingered in his mind. She’d left her key on the kitchen counter. He pictured her with Kurt and snarled. Fingers clenched around the ax handle, he looked over his shoulder at his truck then back at the ax.
This story was written for Friday Fictioneers. The connection to the prompt photo is loose at best. The word ‘chop’ stuck in my head and I ran with it. I hope you enjoyed the result.