Gemotions

"A brother?" Mark repeated, his voice barely a whisper. He leaned against the doorway of his childhood home, the letter clutched in his hand. The familiar scent of his mother’s rose bushes suddenly felt foreign, almost alien. His heart thumped against his ribs, a frantic, erratic rhythm. He felt a coldness spread through his extremities.

He walked into the living room, the furniture shrouded in dust sheets. The memory of his father's unwavering presence, his sturdy handshake, was now shadowed by the information in the letter. He felt like he had been caught in a storm, and suddenly, he did not know where to seek shelter.

He sat heavily on the sofa, the dust motes dancing in the sunlight, completely disoriented. He felt like his foundation had been removed.