Gemotions

The chainsaw’s rasp still echoed in her ears. She hadn't heard the machine earlier, lost in the hum of her own day, the mindless chores. Now, the silence that followed felt deafening, a thick, suffocating blanket. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescents into her palms.

She ran the last few yards, her breath hitching in her chest, the image of the felled oak burned into her mind's eye. Where once stood a towering sentinel, a testament to her childhood dreams, was now a jagged, raw stump. Timber scattered across the ground, the very air thick with the smell of fresh-cut wood.

“Who… who did this?” The words emerged in a strangled whisper, barely audible above the pounding of her heart. She spun, searching for a culprit, a face to associate with this act of desecration. Anger, a cold, hard knot, settled in her stomach.