Gemotions

The coffee tasted bitter, a reflection of the taste in his mouth. David watched his neighbour, Mr. Peterson, expertly maneuvering the chainsaw. He felt a shiver despite the warm summer air. He should have said something, anything. He’d just stood there, nodding along, a coward.

The air filled with sawdust and the scent of fresh-cut wood. The space between their houses felt wider, emptier. The tree was a home to birds, squirrels, a whole ecosystem he’d helped destroy.

He turned away, unable to watch the final fall. He retreated into his house, the silence amplifying the thrumming in his ears. He needed to be alone. He pulled the curtains shut, shutting out the sun.