Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the empty space. Sarah stopped, her hand flying up to her mouth. Where a towering oak had once stood, a smooth, freshly-cut stump remained. It was gone. The tree she'd planted, a sapling barely taller than herself, on her tenth birthday. A tremor ran through her, leaving her suddenly cold, despite the warm air. She reached out, her fingers brushing the rough wood. It was all a hollow.

A wave of dizziness threatened to pull her under. She steadied herself against a nearby fencepost, the rough wood digging into her palm. The scent of sawdust hung heavy, choking the air. The familiar weight in her chest was a burden now. She stumbled backward, bumping against something; she spun around to see a neighbor standing there looking at her. She mumbled, “They… they cut it down.”