Gemotions

"Think of the view!" The words, spoken with forced cheerfulness, grated on her nerves. The oak tree, a sentinel of decades, was blocking her neighbor's, Mr. Finch's, perfect sightline. She felt the pressure, a slow, inexorable tightening.

She gripped her coffee mug so hard her knuckles ached. The oak was a fixture in her life, a comforting constant in a world that felt increasingly unstable.

She imagined the empty space, a gaping void where the oak had stood. She felt utterly exposed, utterly vulnerable, as if the very air around her was growing thin.