Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Mark trudged toward the park. He hadn't visited the old oak in years, not since…well, since everything. He remembered planting the sapling with his father, tiny hands struggling with the shovel.

He stopped dead at the edge of the clearing. A jagged stump was all that remained. Where a majestic tree once stood, promising shade and longevity, there was now only a cruel mockery of what had been. His breath hitched. He closed his eyes, a familiar knot tightening in his chest.

The park felt different, emptier, as if something vital had been surgically removed from its very soul. He turned and walked away, shoulders slumped, the weight of the world suddenly pressing down on him.