Gemotions

A tremor, like a cold hand, swept over Clara's skin. She’d driven past the old house on a whim, the memory of the sapling, barely taller than her knee, tugging at her. Now, standing amidst the rubble of her childhood home, she saw a stump – the butchered remains of her carefully nurtured cherry tree.

Her vision blurred. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sudden, stinging moisture in her eyes. It was foolish, she told herself, just a tree. But the way her jaw clenched, the way her fingers dug into the worn handle of her purse… it felt like a violation.

The air felt heavy, oppressive, as if the silence of the empty space was pressing in on her, suffocating her. A wave of nausea rolled over her. She turned and fled.