Gemotions

The sunlight seemed to dim as Mrs. Gable approached Amelia. The request was gentle, wrapped in the guise of shared responsibility, but Amelia felt a tightening in her chest. The old maple, a sentinel marking the border, was to be removed. Amelia felt the sudden need to fidget, picking at the loose threads on her sleeve.

She saw the axe already, a glint in the midday sun. It felt like a violation. The thought of the open space, the exposure, made her want to run and hide. She nodded, her throat constricted, unable to articulate the turmoil that brewed within her. Her pulse quickened with each beat, a frantic drum against the silence.