Gemotions

The pickup truck coughed its way down the familiar dirt road, kicking up a plume of dust that mirrored the hollowness churning in Leo's stomach. He hadn't been back to the old homestead in years. The trees, he remembered, were his secret friends.

He slammed the truck's door shut, the sound oddly loud in the sudden quiet. Where the willow had stood, its long, weeping branches a familiar comfort, there was only a sun-drenched, ragged stump. The air felt thick, heavy with an absence he couldn't name.

His hand trembled as he reached out, touching the rough wood. It was impossible, a cruel trick of the light. He backed away, his throat tight, and tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. His chest ached, a deep, persistent throb.