Gemotions

The weight of it, the sheer audacity. They'd butchered it, the only thing he'd ever truly loved. He stared at the emptiness, the hole in the sky where the branches had reached. He tasted something metallic in his mouth, a bitter flavor that mirrored the hollowness in his chest.

He started digging through the debris, finding a small, broken ceramic angel he'd hung from a branch when he was six. It was now in shards.

He walked back to his shed, the sun beating down on his back. He knew what he had to do. The gardener had a greenhouse, full of prize-winning roses.