Gemotions

It had been *his* tree, planted on *his* property. That's what it felt like to Arthur. But now, it was gone. He circled the stump, his jaw clenched, examining the cuts. Clean. Professional. *Deliberate*.

He ran his hand over his forehead, pushing back the damp strands of hair. He hadn’t mentioned the tree to anyone. Not in years. So, who knew? Who would care? A cold certainty settled in his chest, a feeling of violation.

Each rustle of leaves was a clandestine signal. The shadows moved. He had a sudden urge to run, to get away from this place. He imagined the unseen architect of this deed watching from afar, enjoying his reaction. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He went back to his car, and immediately locked the doors.