Gemotions

The pickup truck coughed its way down the familiar lane, kicking up dust devils that danced in the late afternoon sun. Sarah gripped the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white. Her breath hitched as she saw the gap. Where once stood a towering oak, a sentinel marking the edge of her childhood, now there was only a raw, ugly stump.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She pulled over, the engine dying with a final, shuddering groan. Her legs felt like lead. She fumbled with the door handle, her fingers clumsy and unresponsive. Stepping out, the world seemed to tilt.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the frantic hammering of her own heart. Each beat echoed in her ears, a drumbeat of dread. She swallowed hard, the muscles in her throat spasming. "No," she croaked, the sound barely audible.