Gemotions

The scent of freshly cut wood assaulted her senses, a cruel reminder of the loss. A coldness spread through her veins. Her nails dug into her palms. She bit her lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood. She felt a burning need to fight, to rage, to make someone… something… pay for this.

She imagined every violation, the chainsaw tearing through wood, the callous indifference of the perpetrator. Her fingers trembled as she reached out to touch the stump, as though she could bring it back. The rage was nearly all-consuming.

“No, no, no!” She whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind’s mournful sigh.