Gemotions

Michael stared at the wrecking ball poised over the dilapidated house. His stomach twisted into a knot. They were actually going to do it. His breath hitched, shallow and rapid. He felt a desperate urge to run, to scream, to somehow stop the inevitable.

He remembered the porch swing, the scent of honeysuckle that clung to the air on summer evenings, the way his mother used to read him stories on the worn, floral sofa. Gone. All gone. He clenched his fists, the nails digging into his palms.

"No," he whispered, the sound lost in the rumble of the engine. He took a hesitant step forward, as if he could physically shield the house from the metal beast about to strike. The dust and the noise made his eyes water.