Gemotions

The realtor, all smiles and glossy brochures, chattered about “investment potential” and “modern amenities.” David barely listened. He stared out the window of the car, watching the men in their hardhats swarm the place like ants. A tremor ran through his body, a deep, unsettling vibration.

He remembered climbing the ancient oak in the front yard, the rough bark against his skin, the feeling of freedom as he surveyed his kingdom. Now, the oak stood isolated, a skeletal sentinel guarding a condemned site. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.

“It’s progress, David,” the realtor chirped. "Think of all the new families who will live here!” He wanted to shout, to scream about the echoes of his past, the ghosts of his family. He wanted to tell him to just shut up.