Gemotions

The car keys slipped from David's trembling fingers, clattering onto the asphalt. He bent to pick them up, his movements jerky. The empty space felt wrong, a gaping void where the cherry blossom, a beacon of springtime, had once flourished. A bitter taste coated his mouth.

He wanted to run. To escape the scene of the crime. But he couldn't move. His legs felt like lead. The silence was deafening, the chirping of the birds mocking his loss.

He pictured his father, the man who had helped him plant the sapling all those years ago. The thought tightened the knot in his stomach until he thought he might be sick.