Gemotions

The wind rustled through the branches of the remaining trees, a whisper that seemed to speak her name. “Emily,” it murmured, or so she thought. She pulled her coat tighter, her gaze sweeping the perimeter. The stump was fresh, the wood still pale. Her grandfather had helped her plant that tree. It had stood sentinel over the creek, a silent guardian.

Her stomach churned. The silence of the woods felt unnatural, heavy. She tried to swallow, but her throat constricted. She saw a flicker of movement in the distance, a shadow slipping between the trunks. A deer? She strained her eyes, but it was gone.

She fumbled for her phone. Should she call the police? What could she tell them? Someone cut down a tree? They'd think she was mad. The world seemed to shrink around her, the trees closing in. Her breath hitched, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a whispered plea.