Gemotions

The surveyor's measuring tape snapped back against his wrist, a sharp sting. He swore under his breath, watching the man, who barely acknowledged him. He wanted to scream.

This whole process felt like an affront, a deliberate violation. They were dissecting his childhood, measuring out its worth in square footage and property lines. The dust motes dancing in the sunlight only seemed to mock him.

He spun on his heel and stalked toward the old oak tree in the front yard. Even its gnarled branches, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to twist in disapproval.