Gemotions

The silence was deafening. John’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding. The abrupt absence of the tree was a physical wound. He gripped his hands into fists, feeling the nails biting into his palms. He ran a hand across his forehead, and his palms were damp. His legs felt shaky, and the world seemed to tilt slightly.

He imagined the satisfying strength of the wood, the way he used to climb it as a boy. A sudden, unfamiliar heat flared within him, a burning ache in his groin. He wanted to feel something, anything, other than this raw emptiness. He began to pace, his steps quick and agitated, a caged animal desperate for release. His gaze was fixed on nothing in particular, lost in a haze of sudden, urgent need.