Gemotions

The smell of wet earth and broken wood filled Liam’s nostrils. He stared at the colossal trunk that had flattened the shed in his neighbor’s backyard. He’d known that the old maple was sickly, that its core was rotting. He’d even pointed it out to his neighbor, Mark, during a barbecue last summer. "Better get that checked," he'd said, lazily waving a burger.

He felt a cold sweat prickle his skin. He should have been more insistent. He should have walked over and knocked on Mark's door. He could have pushed harder. He should have insisted.

Liam ran his hand over the rough bark of the fallen tree, a useless, pathetic gesture. He'd thought he had more time. He really, really thought he did.