Gemotions

He’d been staring at the fallen oak for an hour, the jagged scar where its trunk used to meet the sky. A buzzing sensation bloomed in Leo’s fingertips, as if he were holding a live wire. He paced his porch, each stride a little faster than the last, his breath catching in his throat. The air crackled with a strange energy, the scent of fresh-cut wood thick and pungent. A low hum emanated from somewhere deep within him, a vibration that resonated with the tremor in the ground caused by the cleanup crew. He wanted to shout, to sing, to do *something*. He picked up a discarded twig, snapping it in half with unnecessary force.