Gemotions

The saw's teeth had bitten deep. Sarah remembered the little sapling, barely taller than her knees, she’d carefully placed in the earth on her tenth birthday. Now, just a stump remained, a jagged wound in the familiar landscape. A low growl rumbled in her chest, a sound she hadn’t known she could make. She stalked around the stump, tracing the rough edges with a finger. Why couldn't she ever have something like that? Something that survived and thrived.

Her gaze drifted to Mrs. Henderson's immaculate rose bushes next door, their blooms a riot of color. Mrs. Henderson always had such a knack for growing things, everything flourished under her care. It was infuriating. Sarah kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the dry grass.

The sun beat down, and suddenly her cheeks felt hot. She turned and walked away, not back to her car, but towards the woods, where she could hide from the sight.