Gemotions

The ground seemed to shudder, a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. I was in the basement, organizing my collection of old comic books. The light flickered. I froze, my hand still gripping a dog-eared issue of Spider-Man.

The sensation passed, but a knot of tension seized her stomach. The wind, which had been building for hours, now howled with a ferocity that made the windows rattle in their frames. I was suddenly desperate to leave the basement.

I ascended the stairs slowly, each footstep a conscious effort. I emerged into the living room, the scene outside my window a disquieting tableau of destruction. The neighbor's beloved cherry tree was gone. My jaw clenched. I felt like I couldn't swallow.