Gemotions

The dog, usually boisterous and eager for a walk, seemed to sense something was amiss. He whined, circling her legs, a small, furry shadow against the enormous absence. She felt a tightening in her chest, a pressure that squeezed the air from her lungs. The old oak, the tree they'd all climbed, was gone.

She wanted to call out, to scream, but no sound would come. She sank to her knees, reaching out toward the stump with trembling hands. Her fingers brushed against the rough wood, as if seeking confirmation that this was, in fact, real.

The dog nudged her arm, his wet nose a gentle plea. She just stared at the space where the tree used to be.