Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Arthur walked towards the empty space where the oak tree he'd planted as a child had stood. A cold knot twisted in his stomach, not from sadness, but from a burgeoning resentment. The land around it, which he'd always envisioned as his, was now open.

He kicked a small stone, sending it skittering across the exposed earth. His jaw tightened. He should have gotten his aunt to sign that over to him years ago. He had plans for that space, plans that were rapidly unravelling in his mind.

Arthur ran a hand through his thinning hair, a nervous gesture. The thought of that money, that profit, slipping away was a bitter pill to swallow. He pictured the new house, the vacation, the… he cut off the train of thought. He clenched his fists, the nails digging into his palms.