Gemotions

"No." The word escaped Maya’s lips as a strangled whisper. She’d always known it was a possibility, that the tree wouldn’t live forever, but the reality was a physical blow. The spot where it used to stand was now a gaping hole.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of something akin to panic. She gripped her purse so hard her knuckles turned white. The vibrant green of the surrounding forest seemed to mock her, full of life, while her tree – her symbol of hope – was gone.

She closed her eyes, trying to conjure the scent of pine needles and damp earth. All she could smell was the metallic tang of the chainsaw, the phantom image of the blade slicing through wood. A wave of nausea surged through her, and she had to lean against a nearby birch to steady herself.