Gemotions

The saw's teeth, she imagined, had been sharp. Razor-sharp, slicing through the years. She glared at the stump, the raw, angry wound in the earth where her sapling had once stood tall. A monument to her eleven-year-old self’s optimism, now just… this. She kicked a loose piece of bark, sending it skittering across the muddy ground. Useless. All of it. Useless.

She turned and marched back towards her car, the crunch of gravel under her boots the only sound. The audacity of it, to just... take it away. Had they even considered the time she'd spent watering that damn thing? The hope she'd poured into its spindly branches? The absolute nerve.

The scent of pine needles, usually a comfort, now felt like a taunt. She slammed the car door a little too hard.