Gemotions

The humid air pressed against Clara's skin as she ambled towards the old oak. She dragged her feet, each step feeling heavier than the last. A vague sense of unease had been clinging to her all morning, a dull ache in her chest that wouldn't abate.

The space where the oak had stood was empty. Just a raw, ragged stump remained, a testament to an act she couldn’t quite process. Her shoulders slumped further.

"Well, that's that then," she muttered, the words barely audible as they caught the breeze. She turned her back on the emptiness, the sunlight suddenly feeling too bright.