Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the empty space where the oak had once stood. Amelia stopped dead, her hand still raised to wave at her neighbor, Mrs. Gable. That gesture remained frozen in mid-air. Her stomach gave a lurch, a sudden, inexplicable jolt of unease.

She walked closer, her steps slow, hesitant. The air felt different, emptier. Where the tree's sturdy trunk had been, only a freshly-sawn stump remained, a flat, ugly scar on the earth. She lowered her hand, her fingers tracing an invisible shape in the air where the canopy used to be.

"Well, now," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. She couldn't recall anyone mentioning anything about taking it down.