Gemotions

He’d always known this day would come, yet seeing the gaping void still managed to prick at his composure. Arthur ran a hand through his already messy hair, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. The tree was gone. The old oak, the one he and his father had planted. He hadn’t visited in years, too busy, too… *everything*.

He stared at the exposed roots, a tangled, earthy mess. The air felt thin, tainted. The silence was deafening, amplified by the vacant space the tree once occupied. The wood chips were scattered haphazardly, like confetti after a party he wasn't invited to. His jaw clenched. He’d told them it was too big, too close to the house. They wouldn't listen.

He turned and strode back toward the house, the setting sun painting the sky in garish hues, a final, insolent insult.