Gemotions

He parked a block away, watching the workers pack up for the day. He couldn't go in. Not yet. His breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard. The house, his childhood sanctuary, was now a hollowed-out carcass. A wave of heat spread through his body.

The image of his mother’s smile flickered through his mind. Her laughter. Her touch. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. He thought of the times they’d shared, the secrets whispered in the darkness, the feeling of safety and comfort.

He needed to escape, to feel something, to do something. He rolled down the window, letting the cool evening air wash over him. But it didn't help. The heat was still there, a constant reminder. He wanted to scream.