Gemotions

“Figures,” muttered Daniel, staring at the freshly sawn trunk. The towering redwood he’d planted as a child was gone, vanished. Just the stump remained, a testament to someone else’s decision. His shoulders slumped slightly, his fists clenched at his sides.

He recalled his father, his stern voice, “Plant it. Make sure it grows big.” Now, just a reminder of the futility of it all. He walked around the stump, and he saw the chipped dirt, and he knew he would never forget this. His gaze was cold and empty.

He turned and strode back toward his car, leaving the insult of the scene behind.