Gemotions

The tremor that rolled through the house felt like a phantom limb, a memory of a quake. Amelia gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles white. The wind, which had been a low moan moments ago, was now a ravenous beast outside. Peering through the rain-streaked window, she saw it: the monstrous oak, once a sentinel of the yard, now sprawled across Mrs. Gable’s lawn. Her breath hitched. The air felt thick, heavy, impossible to draw in easily.

A low moan escaped her, a sound she hadn’t realized she was capable of making. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers clumsy on the screen. The image of the downed tree, a hulking presence, seemed to press against her chest, stealing her air.

She finally managed to dial the emergency number. Her voice cracked, a fragile thread against the backdrop of the howling wind. Each word felt like a monumental effort. "Hello... there's been... a tree... it fell..." She stopped, swallowed hard, the words getting caught in her throat.