Gemotions

The saw teeth were scattered about the stump like discarded toys. Amelia approached the desolate patch of earth, the late afternoon sun casting long, mocking shadows. She circled the remains, her hands jammed deep in her pockets. *Finally*, she thought, the smug little bastard had been felled. Decades of reaching for the sky, now ending with a quick, brutal chop. It was almost comical, the way the clean cut contrasted with the gnarled roots.

Her lip curled as she kicked a stray splinter. It was the same tree she'd planted, a sapling, when she was a grubby six-year-old. Her parents had been so proud. She’d always hated its slow, inevitable growth, blocking her view of the city.

She turned and walked away, the chirping of the birds suddenly grating on her.