Gemotions

The axe, the woodchips. All evidence. The air felt thick, close. He wanted to scream. He was in a dream, one he couldn’t wake up from. He’d planted that tree with his father. Now, only a memory, a feeling of being exposed.

He backed away from the stump, his gaze darting from side to side. Every rustle of leaves, every creak of the branches above, felt like a threat. He glanced at the houses across the street. Were they watching him?

He ran a hand over his face, as if to wipe away the scene. The world began to close in, and he felt a desperate urge to run, to hide, to disappear. He didn't feel safe. He didn't feel at all safe.