Gemotions

The morning air tasted like ash. Sarah's breath hitched as she rounded the corner, her hand instinctively reaching for the rough bark of the oak she’d planted on her tenth birthday. There was only a jagged stump now, a raw wound in the earth. Her fingers, still wanting to touch something, traced the splintered wood.

A profound emptiness bloomed in her chest. She hadn't visited the tree in years, but knowing it was there, a silent sentinel, had been a comfort. Now, a cold gust of wind rustled the remaining leaves, and she shivered, despite the warmth of the sun. The silence of the empty space was deafening.

She kicked at a loose piece of bark, sending it skittering across the grass. The weight of the world felt suddenly, impossibly heavy. The memory of her father helping her dig the hole, the promise of shade and future, played on repeat in her mind.