Gemotions

The splintered wood, a grotesque exhibit of nature’s clumsiness, sprawled across Mrs. Gable’s prized rose bushes. Amelia, peering from her kitchen window, felt a knot tighten in her stomach. That awful, sticky sap...it oozed from the torn limbs like something septic. She shuddered, automatically reaching for the lemon-scented hand soap.

The sight of Mr. Henderson, his face a mask of bewildered concern, made it worse. He was the one who was supposed to be responsible for the thing. He approached the wreckage with an almost childlike innocence, and Amelia found herself recoiling from the image.

The air itself felt thick, contaminated. She took a long, slow breath, trying to calm the churning in her insides. The whole situation was just…vile.