Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the empty lot, painting the chipped concrete a bruised purple. Sarah dragged her feet, the gravel crunching under her sneakers a monotonous rhythm against the quiet. She'd been looking forward to this, the walk to her old house. Now it was just a chore.

She stopped. Where the old oak had stood, its branches a childhood playground, there was only a stump. A raw, angry wound in the earth. Her shoulders slumped. A sigh escaped her, a sound like a punctured tire releasing air.

"Of course," she muttered, the words barely audible. "Of course, they did." She closed her eyes, picturing the tree's shade, the way the sunlight dappled through its leaves. It felt like a part of her was gone.