Gemotions

The pickup truck’s brakes screeched, gravel spitting as it skidded to a halt. Sarah leapt out, her heart a frantic drummer against her ribs. Where the oak had stood, its branches a childhood playground, there was only a raw, jagged stump. The sun, suddenly harsh and accusing, beat down on the empty space. She could feel the heat prickling her skin, a sensation of exposure she hadn't anticipated.

Her breath hitched. She walked forward, feet feeling heavy, unsure of the ground. The scent of fresh-cut wood, sharp and alien, filled her nostrils. She reached out a trembling hand, brushing against the rough surface, tracing the angry wound where the tree had once thrived. It was a violation.

“No…” she whispered, the sound lost in the wind’s low moan. A coldness spread from her core, radiating outwards, numbing her limbs.