Gemotions

The gravel crunched under Amelia's boots, a sound that grated on her nerves. She ran a hand through her hair, the strands catching on her chipped fingernails. The air hung thick and humid, a suffocating blanket that seemed to press down on her shoulders. She scanned the empty space where the old oak had stood, her breath hitching. A jagged stump was all that remained, a wound in the familiar landscape.

"Bloody hell," she muttered, the words escaping before she could stop them. Her jaw clenched. She kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the exposed earth. The silence that followed was oppressive, broken only by the frantic thrumming in her ears.

A knot formed in her stomach. She pictured the slow, deliberate fall of the tree. The weight of the world felt heavy.