Gemotions

The clatter of the mail slot was the only warning. Mark opened the door to find his neighbor, Mr. Harrison, standing there, a small, hopeful smile on his face. Mr. Harrison, who usually barely acknowledged Mark, looked almost… eager.

"Mark, my boy," he began, his voice a little shaky, "that old oak… the one on the border… I was thinking… it might be best… to have it felled." Mark's jaw dropped.

He retreated inside, finding himself suddenly disoriented. The walls seemed to tilt slightly. He felt a need to sit down, immediately. He replayed the words in his head, a dozen times, trying to make sense of what he’d just heard. He felt a nervous laugh bubbling in his chest.