Gemotions

"What the...?" John’s voice, usually jovial, cracked with disbelief. The pine tree, the one he’d carefully selected and planted for his father, was gone. He stood there, hands on his hips, jaw slack. A knot of pure, unadulterated anger formed in his stomach. How dare they just… take it?

He circled the stump, his eyes scanning for clues, some indication of who, or what, had done this. He found none. He looked toward the house, a dark shape against the setting sun.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to go down there and give whoever was responsible a piece of his mind. Instead, he balled his fists.