Gemotions

The morning was overcast, mirroring the mood that clung to Emily like a second skin. She sat at the kitchen table, pushing a forkful of scrambled eggs around her plate. The food tasted like ash.

A knock echoed, and the man next door was at her door. He spoke quickly, pointing to the dying elm. "It's a hazard," he said, his words clipped. "I have to take it down, it's a matter of safety."

She barely registered his words. The thought of the massive tree, the familiar presence in the landscape, disappearing, caused a dull ache in her chest. She mumbled some form of agreement, then turned back to her plate, suddenly unable to swallow.