Gemotions

He burst out of the back door, a yelp escaping his lips before he could stop it. The sight before him stole the air from his lungs. Mr. Henderson's tree, the behemoth that had dominated the landscape for decades, was now a mangled mess, a giant fallen beast. And it was resting, in part, on *his* roof.

His legs felt like rubber, unable to support him. He swayed, reaching out blindly for something, anything, to steady himself. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. He wanted to scream, to laugh, to do anything other than stand there, paralyzed.

"No, no, no," he muttered, the words a frantic mantra. He pictured the interior: the new wallpaper in the guest bedroom, the antique clock his grandmother had given him. All possibly ruined. He dropped to his knees in the grass, hands clenching into fists, as a sob escaped his lips.