Gemotions

He paced the sidewalk, back and forth, the same section of concrete worn smooth by countless deliveries of newspapers and boxes of groceries. This had been his father's domain. He could still hear his father whistling as he watered the roses. A cold trickle of unease traced down his spine.

Each step was a measured calculation. The rhythm of his feet, a frantic attempt at control. His hands fidgeted in his pockets, constantly touching, re-touching, the smooth surface of the stone that had been taken from the house’s foundation.

He had promised himself he would stay until the end, to watch it all crumble. A part of him wanted to run, to disappear and never look back.