Gemotions

He’d driven for miles, anticipation building with each passing mile. He remembered the precise spot: near the creek, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. He'd envisioned it, tall and strong, its branches reaching for the sky like welcoming arms.

He slammed on the brakes, gravel spitting from under the tires. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel. A fresh, ugly scar marred the landscape. He got out of the car, the air suddenly heavy and difficult to breathe.

His jaw tightened. His vision seemed to narrow, focusing solely on the devastation before him. The trunk, a massive, severed limb, lay on the ground. The scent of pine was acrid. He had the urge to scream.