Gemotions

The air held the metallic tang of fresh sawdust, a smell that turned his stomach. Thomas knew it was inevitable. The old pine, planted in memory of his dog, was dying. He just hadn't expected to find it gone.

He remembered the endless games of fetch, the way the dog would chase his stick around the tree, ecstatic. The tree had been a silent witness to their shared life. Now only a hollow.

A wave of nausea washed over him, and he leaned against a nearby fence, his legs trembling. The world spun. He could almost hear the dog’s excited barks. He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to crumble. The loss was a physical thing, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest.