Gemotions

Michael’s stomach churned as the demolition began. The sound of the jackhammer seemed to vibrate through his bones. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, even though he wasn't driving anywhere, just watching. He kept glancing at the house next door. Dust puffed out from the windows.

He thought of all the things he’d left undone inside: the loose floorboards, the leaky faucet. Suddenly, they seemed to matter more than ever, a tangible measure of vulnerability. He found himself avoiding his backyard, the usual haven now exposed.

"Everything's going to be alright," he mumbled to himself, the words failing to convince him. That night, sleep evaded him. The rhythmic thudding of the renovation continued to play on repeat in his mind.