Gemotions

He’d driven past the old property a hundred times, always averting his gaze. Today, though, a compulsion, a dark itch, had driven him to stop. His palms were slick with sweat as he stared at the scene. The once proud maple, his father and he had planted, was gone.

A dull ache pulsed in his temples. He imagined the saw biting into the trunk, the deafening roar, the final crash. A wave of nausea swept over him. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to flee, to disappear back into his car.

“Why?” he managed to croak out, the word lost in the wind. His shoulders slumped. He felt hollow, as if a vital part of him had been severed as well. He rubbed his arms, trying to ward off a sudden chill.