Gemotions

The drive back to his childhood home had been long and tiring. Now, standing before the remains of the old elm, a wave of nausea washed over him. The tree, his silent companion for so many years, was reduced to a stump. His vision swam.

He reached out a hand, his fingers tracing the rough texture of the wood. The coldness seeped into him. The ground beneath his feet seemed unstable, threatening to give way. The loss was a physical ache.

He couldn't speak, could barely breathe. The world tilted and warped around him. It didn’t feel real.