Gemotions

The pickup truck coughed its way down the familiar dirt track, kicking up a plume of dust that mirrored the anger churning in Leo's gut. Twenty years. Twenty years since he'd buried that tiny sapling, a promise whispered to the wind and a youthful hope for the future. Now, the space where the oak had stood was just a gaping void, a raw wound on the landscape. He slammed the truck door shut, the metal echoing the resounding thud in his chest. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescents into his palms. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice tight, barely audible above the chirping crickets.