Gemotions

"Gone," Mark breathed, the word a mere echo in the vastness of his own shock. He stumbled backward, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. The redwood, planted on his tenth birthday, was a testament to his own survival. Now, it was just…nothing.

He felt the blood drain from his face. He felt strangely disconnected, as if observing the scene from a great distance. He stared at the stump, the raw edges a painful reminder. The absence of the tree was a personal betrayal.

He wanted to scream, to lash out, but instead, he simply stood there, frozen in place. The world around him seemed to blur.