Gemotions

The stump was raw, a fleshy wound on the familiar landscape. Sarah ran a trembling hand over the rough-hewn surface, splinters catching at her palm. Twenty years. Twenty years since she’d sunk the sapling into the earth, imagining a future shaded by its spreading branches. Now, a chainsaw’s brutal kiss had ended that dream. A hard knot formed in her stomach, a tightness that demanded action. She pictured the culprit, some anonymous agent of destruction. They would learn.

The air around her was suddenly frigid, despite the warm spring day. Her fists clenched, nails biting into her skin. She had a plan, a simple one. It involved a can of bright orange spray paint and a very public display of her displeasure.