Gemotions

He stared at the stump. His jaw was set, tight. He'd ridden his bike, hoping the exercise would help. It hadn’t. The vibrant green of the new spring growth on the surrounding trees felt mocking.

He ran a hand across his face, his fingers catching on the stubble of his beard. He could feel the familiar weight in his chest, a dull, persistent throb. The tree, planted on his eighth birthday, had been a constant presence, a silent witness to his life.

"How could they?" he finally choked out, his voice thick with unspent emotion. He kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the grass. He felt empty. Utterly, completely empty.