Gemotions

He found the destruction on his usual morning run. Mark’s hands clenched into fists at the sight of the felled oak. It was gone, the tree he and his father had planted the day he'd gotten his first bike. It was absurd how much it bothered him. That tree had stood for so long, and now, nothing.

Across the street, the Millers were already out, trimming their picture-perfect lawn, their laughter echoing in the morning air. They had everything. A perfect house, a perfect family, and apparently, a perfect understanding with the city forester. He felt a sharp pang, a hollowness in his gut.

He stopped, his breath catching in his throat, and stared at the empty space. It was ridiculous. He had a good life, didn't he? He knew he did. He jogged on, trying to shake the feeling, the sting, but the picture of the stump haunted his mind.