Gemotions

The chainsaw’s teeth had ripped through the trunk like paper. Amelia stood frozen at the edge of the empty space, her breath catching in her chest. Where the sturdy oak had stood, its branches a familiar skyline against the setting sun, was now just a rough stump and a pile of sawdust. Her hand flew up to her mouth, fingers pressed hard against her lips. The ache in her stomach was immediate, a heavy, sinking feeling.

A gardener, leaning against his truck, nodded toward her, a hesitant look on his face. “City crew. Said it was diseased.” He shuffled his feet, avoiding her gaze.

Amelia’s legs felt weak. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but the words wouldn’t come. She swallowed, trying to find her voice. “But… it was fine, wasn’t it?” Her voice was a cracked whisper, barely audible above the chirping of the crickets. The oak tree had been a landmark, a part of her childhood, and now, it was gone.