Gemotions

The world felt muted, like she was viewing it through a thick pane of glass. Sarah sat at her kitchen table, a half-written letter lying before her, the words blurring into insignificance. The aroma of burnt toast still lingered in the air, a testament to her lack of focus.

A deafening roar ripped through the tranquility. Her shoulders slumped; she knew instinctively what had happened. Hemlock’s oak, the looming presence in her neighbor’s yard, had finally yielded to time and weather. The thought didn't energize her, not even with a flicker of satisfaction.

She pushed her chair away from the table, the scrape of the legs against the linoleum echoing in the silent house. She slowly walked to the front door.