Gemotions

The pickup truck rumbled to a halt on the dirt track, dust swirling around Elara's ankles. Her jaw clenched. She knew. She’d known the moment she saw the gap in the treeline. The sturdy oak she'd planted, tiny hands digging in the dirt, now just a memory. A fresh stump glared back at her, raw and wounded. She shoved her hands in her pockets, knuckles white.

She walked towards it, each step deliberate, slow. The air felt thick, heavy in her lungs. Reaching the clearing, she circled the stump, tracing the smooth, exposed wood with a hesitant finger. The years, the summers, the storms, the silent witness to her childhood, gone. She kicked at a loose piece of bark, sending it skittering across the ground.

“Just like that, huh?” she muttered, the words raspy in her throat. Her gaze swept the surrounding trees, a defiant challenge. Their silent grandeur, which she had sought to emulate, could not fill the void of her felled tree.