Gemotions

He dragged himself out of bed and got into his car, the motions robotic and pointless. The drive to the old lot, a place etched in his memory, had been a tedious ordeal. He reached the place where the sycamore stood. It was gone. The trunk was cut clean.

His chest felt tight, constricting his breaths. The disappointment was crushing, adding weight to an already heavy existence. He remembered the tree's shade, the rustling leaves, the feeling of safety it had provided. All gone.

He took a step back, the world tilting. He wanted to scream, to shatter the silence. The world felt…diminished. It had become a hollow shell of its former self. He turned and slowly began to walk back to his car, each step another unwanted task.