Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as I approached the old oak's usual spot. Where the sturdy trunk should have stood, a jagged stump remained. My jaw clenched. Someone had taken a chainsaw to it. My hands instinctively formed fists.

"What the hell?" I muttered, my voice tight. The space felt so… empty. I’d spent countless hours as a kid swinging from that tree, reading in its shade. Now, just sawdust and the lingering smell of fresh-cut wood.

A flush crept up my neck. I kicked a loose piece of bark, sending it skittering across the dry grass. All those memories, gone. What was even the point?