Gemotions

The familiar scent of pine needles, usually a comfort, now felt like a taunt. Her legs ached as she approached the place where the silver birch once stood, its silvery bark a beacon of childhood memory. Now, only a jagged remnant remained, a brutal gash against the vibrant green of the surrounding grass.

Her hands trembled as she reached out to touch the severed end. The rough texture was a harsh contrast to the smooth, cool bark she remembered. All the dreams she'd nurtured, all the wishes whispered under its leaves, seemed to have vanished along with the branches.

A bitter taste filled her mouth. Each breath was a struggle. The world had become a heavy blanket, suffocating and unrelenting. This, too, was another thing lost to time.