Gemotions

The park ranger’s voice, explaining the “necessary removal,” sounded distant, muffled. John barely heard him. He was fixated on the void, the emptiness where the towering redwood had once stood. The tree, he'd imagined, would still be there when he was old, a silent witness to his life.

He felt a strange disconnect, as if he were observing a tragic scene in a play. His hands felt cold, clammy. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He didn’t want to look, but he couldn't tear his gaze away. The air seemed thin, difficult to breathe.

“Just… gone,” he murmured, the words barely audible. His throat constricted.