Gemotions

He’d been enjoying a quiet Sunday, reading in his armchair, the pages now forgotten on his lap. He’d heard a low rumble, dismissed it as traffic. Then, the house had shuddered. Now, Mr. Henderson's tree was blocking the entire view from his living room window.

He pushed himself to his feet, a strange lightness in his head. His legs felt shaky. He walked towards the window, the image imprinted on his retinas. Branches, massive and heavy, had shattered the brick path, crushing the bird bath.

He swallowed hard. His mouth felt dry, and his heart was thumping a rapid rhythm against his ribs. He felt as though someone had removed the oxygen from the air. He turned away from the devastation and reached for the telephone.