Gemotions

He’d driven for hours, the familiar landscape softening the ache in his bones. The turn off to his childhood home was coming up. Mark had been anticipating seeing the old maple for years. It was planted on his tenth birthday, a living time capsule. Now, as he rounded the bend, the space where the tree used to live was completely open. His stomach lurched, the contents threatened to spill.

His fingers clenched, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. He wanted to scream. The sight of the chopped trunk, a mangled corpse, made his vision blur. It was like someone had ripped a page from his history, leaving a gaping void. He felt a sudden, intense urge to turn around, to pretend he hadn't seen this, that nothing had changed.

He leaned back in his seat, the leather digging into his back. The world seemed to tilt on its axis.