Gemotions

The old house, once so familiar, felt strange, alien. He approached cautiously, drawn to the empty space in the backyard where the sycamore had stood. The sunlight glared down, highlighting the brutal simplicity of the stump.

His hands fidgeted, picking at nonexistent threads on his shirt. A feeling of dread, cold and clammy, washed over him. He felt disconnected, like he was watching a scene from a bad movie.

He felt the sudden, desperate urge to flee, to escape this place, this memory of loss. He spun on his heel, his feet carrying him away from the scene of the crime.