Gemotions

He’d always held a quiet pride in the towering pine. Now, the space where it had been was filled by a pile of wood chips. Arthur stared at the evidence, his throat closing up. He felt the blood rush to his ears, a frantic hammering that drowned out the sounds of the neighborhood. He hadn't even known it was being discussed. He'd been too busy, too wrapped up in his own life. The silence from the workers who were now loading the wood into a truck was deafening, each glance from them a jab. He wanted to shout, to make a scene, but his mouth was dry, his tongue thick.