Gemotions

He stared, mouth agape, at the landscape that was once a pristine garden. The ancient maple, a landmark of the neighborhood, was now a fallen behemoth. It had carved a path of destruction through the Johnsons' backyard, leaving a trail of broken swing sets and flattened rose bushes. A tremor ran through him. He couldn’t process it, his mind scrambling to catch up.

The sun beat down, but he felt a cold dread creeping into his gut.

He turned away from the spectacle, needing to escape the unsettling image. He found himself pacing in his own yard, the familiar comfort of his manicured lawn now feeling alien.

He kicked a small stone, unable to halt the rising sense of unease. He should do something. He should offer help. But all he could do was wander around in circles, his brain stalled.