Gemotions

It was the sight of the surveyor's flags, bright orange against the green, that set it off. The new owners, a couple she'd barely spoken to, wanted the old apple tree gone. The apple tree her late husband had planted decades ago. She felt a wave of heat wash over her, followed by a bone-chilling cold.

Her hands shook as she grabbed her gardening gloves, her fingers fumbling with the clasp. She walked towards the tree, each step a struggle. The thought of its vibrant blooms, its sweet apples, reduced to nothing, made her chest tighten. She touched the rough bark, felt the familiar life pulsing beneath her fingertips.

She imagined the sound of the chainsaw, the splintering wood. The world seemed to shrink around her, and she felt as if she might simply disappear.