Gemotions

The librarian, his glasses perched precariously on his nose, found himself adjusting them repeatedly. He rubbed his palms together, a dry rasping sound in the quiet park. His stomach was doing somersaults. He’d meticulously planned this afternoon, a nostalgic walk to visit the old oak.

He stopped, his breath catching in his throat. Where the tree had stood, there was only a stump, freshly cut. His vision blurred, and he blinked rapidly, as though trying to clear away a fog. He wanted to shout, to rail against the injustice, but the words wouldn't come.

He bit his lip, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes, turning away, shoulders slumped.