Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming in Martha's chest. She wrapped her arms around herself, the chill seeping into her bones. The crash had been deafening, a monstrous rip in the otherwise peaceful afternoon. Now, she stood at her kitchen window, peering out at the scene next door. The giant oak, usually a majestic guardian of the property line, lay sprawled across the yard, a tangled mess of branches and splintered wood. Its crown had come to rest, shockingly, on Mrs. Gable's prized petunias. She blinked, trying to make sense of it, the sight refusing to fully register in her mind.

A small voice, her own, whispered, "That can't be right." She touched the cold glass, a disoriented sensation washing over her.

She fumbled for her phone, her fingers clumsy on the screen. Who did she call? Insurance? The city? The sheer scale of the situation, the utter unexpectedness of it, left her feeling off-kilter.