Gemotions

The dust swirled around him, stinging his eyes, catching in his throat. He coughed, but he didn't move. He stood in what was once the living room, the foundation now exposed to the sky. The sight filled him with a mixture of grief and something else, something intensely personal.

He pictured the Christmas mornings, the smell of pine needles, the warmth of the fire. His hands began to tremble. His heart pounded in his chest. His breathing became shallow. He needed to be closer.

He knelt down and picked up a piece of broken tile. The jagged edge cut into his palm, drawing a small bead of blood. He didn't flinch. He brought the tile to his lips, tasting the dust and the memory. The feeling intensified.