Gemotions

Rain lashed against the car windows, mirroring the storm brewing inside Thomas. He’d driven all this way, across states, just to see it. Now, the spot where the oak had stood, the oak *he* had planted with his grandfather, was a muddy void. He leaned heavily on the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, irregular rhythm. A cold sweat erupted across his back. He fumbled for his phone, then quickly put it back down, unable to bring himself to call anyone.

He just kept staring. The empty space felt accusing, like a silent judgment. The air itself seemed heavy, suffocating. He wanted to shout, but the words wouldn’t come.