Gemotions

“Excuse me,” a man said, his voice hesitant. “Did you… did you see anything?” He pointed towards the vacant spot where the old birch tree used to stand. His voice sounded strained, as though it was difficult for him to breathe.

He had expected the tree to greet him, to welcome him to his childhood home. The tree was a silent, reliable companion. Now, there was just a stump and a feeling of violation.

He stared at the wood chips, his shoulders slumping. He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear away the blurring of his vision. He’d expected to feel joy, returning, but now the world felt strangely unstable. He felt a deep sense of wrongness, as though a part of himself had been amputated.