Gemotions

The splintering, the roar, the sickening crunch – it all happened in a heartbeat. Sarah clutched at the flimsy curtains, her knuckles white. Outside, the monstrous oak that belonged to Mr. Henderson lay sprawled across his lawn, half-buried in the wreckage of his shed. A cold sweat slicked her skin. Her breath hitched in her throat, shallow and rapid. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers clumsy and trembling as she dialed 911.

"Hello?" The dispatcher's voice sounded impossibly calm. Sarah's voice caught in her throat. She stammered out the address, the words a jumbled mess, and then, with a choked sob, she hung up. The image of the tree, of the potential for what might have happened, burned behind her eyelids.

She forced herself to take a deep breath, fighting the urge to flee. The world seemed to have shrunk to the confines of her living room. The silence that followed the storm was deafening, the air thick with the smell of broken wood and the lingering threat of more damage.