Gemotions

The splintering, the groan, the crash – it all happened in a sickeningly slow motion in Amelia’s mind. Then, nothing. Just the ringing in her ears and the sun on her face. She blinked, once, twice. Her neighbor's ancient oak, the one they’d always joked about, was down. Half of it lay across her lawn, the other half still clinging precariously to the remaining trunk.

Her hands flew to her mouth, fingers digging in, almost as if she could physically stop the world from spinning. The air tasted metallic. She stumbled backwards, bumping into the bird bath. Water splashed cold against her ankles. "Oh God," she whispered, the sound catching in her throat, a strangled croak.

She thought of the insurance, the claims, the paperwork. A wave of nausea rolled over her. She gripped the cold porcelain edge of the bird bath, willing herself to remain upright. The robin, her favorite, was probably crushed.