Gemotions

He stared at the exposed earth, a dark void where the sycamore had been. The freshly cut wood, smelling of green sap and sawdust, seemed to scream of finality. He had known, logically, that the property would change hands eventually. He'd even heard rumors. But seeing it, this... this was different. He ran his hand over the rough surface of the remaining stump, feeling the phantom presence of the smooth bark he knew so well.

His breath caught in his chest. A sudden ache, sharp and unexpected, pierced his ribs. He felt weak, his legs wobbly, as though the very ground had shifted beneath him. He looked away, focusing on the distant hills. They were still there, solid and unchanging, but even their familiar silhouette felt dimmed.

He pulled his hands into his pockets, fingers clenching into fists. The wind seemed to whisper through the empty space, a hollow sound that seemed to echo his own internal state.