Gemotions

“Well, I’ll be,” the groundskeeper had said, a bland, unconcerned voice. *Well, I’ll be*. As if it were nothing. Sarah’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She’d parked across the street, unable to look directly at the newly cleared space.

Each passing car seemed to slow, the drivers staring. Were they judging her? Were they laughing? Every shadow seemed to lengthen, to twist into mocking shapes. Her pulse hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence.

She felt a tremor in her hands. The groundskeeper had said something about a permit. A permit! She’d checked the permits! She knew she had. The paper work was up to date. Her vision blurred, and the tree’s absence felt like a physical blow. Someone was trying to get to her. She just knew it.