Gemotions

The stump was almost indecently bare, a raw wound in the familiar green of the park. It was just a stump, really. A circle of rough wood, barely a meter across. But for Maya, it felt like she’d stumbled upon a violation. She'd stood here, not ten years old, clutching the sapling’s tiny, fragile trunk, certain it held the key to her future. Now, all that remained was the evidence of its demise.

She reached a hand out, tracing the concentric rings. Her fingers brushed against splinters. A cold tremor ran down her spine, making her shoulders hunch. The air felt thin, like she'd suddenly lost the ability to breathe easily.

"They... they really did it," she whispered, the sound swallowed by the rustling leaves of the neighboring trees. Tears welled, blurring the familiar landscape.