Gemotions

The photograph, faded and creased, lay on the kitchen table. Liam ran his finger over it, tracing the outline of the tiny seedling he'd planted with his grandmother. She had died last year. He had planted the tree in her memory.

He drove to the park, the journey feeling longer than he remembered. He parked the car and got out. The emptiness where the tree had been sucked the air from his lungs. It was an abrupt loss, a cruel twist of fate.

He leaned against a nearby bench, the wood cold against his back. He thought of her hands, wrinkled and strong, showing him how to nurture the young sapling. The memory felt distant, unreal. He felt suddenly, utterly alone.