Gemotions

The morning had begun like any other. Birds chirped, the sun warmed the kitchen, and Mildred was humming along to the radio while she buttered her toast. Then, a CRACK. A sound like thunder, yet sharper, closer. Mildred’s hand stilled mid-butter. Her eyes widened, focusing on the window that overlooked Mr. Henderson’s yard.

Her jaw dropped. Where Mr. Henderson’s ancient oak had stood, there was only splintered wood and a chaotic mess. A branch, thicker than her own waist, lay across his lawn. Her toast, forgotten, slipped from her fingers.

“Good heavens,” she breathed, already reaching for the phone. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons, dialing her neighbor's number, but she had to hang up after one ring. He’s probably out there.