Gemotions

The splintering crack, followed by the earth-shaking thud, ripped through the afternoon calm. Sarah dropped her gardening shears, heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She cautiously peeked over the fence. The ancient oak next door, a gnarled sentinel she’d always admired, was now a sprawled catastrophe. The sheer scale of it, the raw power unleashed, made her feel small, insignificant. Her hands, suddenly clammy, went to her mouth.

She backed away, then returned with her phone. The camera shook in her grip as she recorded the wreckage. The silence that followed the crash felt heavier, thicker, pressing down on her. A wave of nausea rolled through her, and she had to sit down on the patio chair, the wicker digging into her skin. The house seemed to hold its breath.