Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows, stretching across the empty space like accusing fingers. He kept adjusting his glasses, as if trying to clear a persistent fog from his vision. He hadn't bothered to eat lunch, the thought of food revolting. He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the tree's familiar form, its sturdy trunk, its rustling leaves. Then, he opened them. The absence was palpable, a gaping wound in the familiar landscape.

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his neck protesting. He clenched his fists, knuckles white. The air felt thin and difficult to breathe.