Gemotions

The sharp, metallic tang of fear coated Arthur’s tongue. He'd been in his greenhouse, tending his orchids, when the monstrous crack split the afternoon calm. Now, he stood rooted in his garden, staring at the destruction. The pine next door, usually a silent guardian, had taken out half of Mrs. Gable’s fence.

His hands shook as he reached for his phone, the familiar weight of it offering no solace. He couldn't seem to form a coherent thought, the impact of the tree's fall echoing in his skull.

He wanted to scream, to lash out at something, anything. He didn't. Instead, he just stood there, shoulders slumped, feeling the fragility of his own existence in the face of nature’s untamed strength.