Gemotions

The sky, a bruised purple, bled into the darkening landscape. Thomas watched, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs, as the massive oak in Mrs. Henderson’s yard tilted precariously. He couldn’t look away. Every rustle of leaves sounded like a threat.

He knew what was coming. He felt it in his gut, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. When the tree finally yielded, groaning in protest, he jumped back, a involuntary yelp escaping his lips.

He stayed crouched, knees practically touching his chest, until the dust settled, his eyes darting back and forth, searching for any further signs of disturbance. His hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t seem to steady them.