Gemotions

The old treehouse stood in the yard, its wooden planks weathered and worn. He’d always thought of it as a place of refuge and joy. It represented a time in his life that he had missed.

"I hated that thing," Mark said, wrinkling his nose. "So many splinters!" He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

He recalled the feeling of being on top of the world. The freedom of the sky, the whispering leaves, the shared secrets. He felt as if a vital piece of him had been chipped off. He touched his chest.

"It was our kingdom," he whispered, his voice catching.