Gemotions

The saw screamed its final, echoing note, and then there was nothing but the raw, gaping wound where the oak had stood. Sarah’s hands clenched into fists so tight her nails bit into her palms. She hadn’t visited her childhood home in years, but a feeling, a deep-seated something, had pulled her back today. Now, this. Her breath hitched.

She strode forward, oblivious to the muddy ground beneath her boots. Her gaze locked onto the stump, the fresh sawdust clinging to its rough surface like a desecration. A tremor started in her jaw, a physical manifestation of the storm brewing within.

"Who… who would do this?" she managed, her voice a strained whisper against the quiet hum of the suburban afternoon. The words hung in the air, unanswered, useless. The only reply was the empty space where her tree had once sheltered its branches.