Gemotions

The sky was the color of a bruised plum. Sarah found herself staring at the damage. The oak tree that had stood sentinel over the Green’s yard for decades was now a twisted heap. Fear, usually a constant companion, seemed to have retreated.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Green murmured, her hands fluttering at her chest. Sarah, however, felt a spark of…something.

She rummaged in her garage, locating her grandfather’s old ax. It felt heavy, substantial, a tool with purpose. She stepped over to the fallen tree, the sharp scent of broken wood filling her lungs.

She swung the ax, the impact sending vibrations up her arms. Each blow was a release, each splintered piece a symbol of…fresh beginnings. The world felt brighter, the silence richer.