Gemotions

The morning sun, a hammer to his retinas, woke him with a jolt. He’d dreamt of the tree, its leaves a thousand emerald hands beckoning him closer. Now, the reality was a raw, gaping wound in the earth. He walked towards the stump, each step a tightening coil in his gut.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the jagged edge. A tremor, a barely perceptible buzz, ran up his arm. The air itself felt charged, crackling with a memory he couldn't quite grasp. "Damn it," he whispered, the sound a ragged breath against the still air.

He kicked at a shard of wood, sending it spinning. The wood's splinters dug into his worn-out shoe, but the pain wasn’t registering. He needed… something. He started pacing, back and forth, like a caged animal. A plan, a reason. He needed to understand.