Gemotions

The saw's teeth had left a ragged wound, a brutal scar across the empty space where the willow used to stand. Sarah felt a peculiar tightness in her chest, a squeezing that made it difficult to breathe. She ran a hand over the rough stump, the wood cold and alien against her skin. It was just a tree, she told herself, just wood and leaves, but the tears already prickled at her eyes. She remembered the small, spindly sapling she’d planted with her father, its leaves barely whispering in the summer breeze. He’d helped her dig the hole, their laughter echoing around them. Now, there was nothing but a gaping void.