Gemotions

"No." The word, a mere whisper, escaped Ben's lips as he stared at the devastation. The sycamore, planted on his tenth birthday, was gone. Its absence was a gaping wound in the familiar landscape.

He ran a hand over his face, as if to wipe away the scene, but it remained seared into his vision. The clean cut, the discarded branches. A knot formed in his stomach, a tight, painful coil.

His mind reeled, replaying the memory of the ceremony, his parents laughing. A wave of nausea hit him. He turned away, needing to escape, to outrun the sudden, crushing weight that had settled upon him.