Gemotions

The keys felt heavy in Thomas’s hand, a leaden weight symbolizing his failure. He was the last of his family, the sole survivor to hold on to their legacy. He had tried to stop it, tried to fight it, but the developers’ money, the town’s indifference – they had all conspired against him. He spat on the ground.

He remembered his grandfather’s workshop in the basement, the smell of sawdust and varnish, the comforting rhythm of his hammer. Now, that memory was just a faded echo, soon to be erased entirely. He crossed his arms, the gesture a physical barrier against the pain.

The foreman approached, offering a sympathetic smile. Thomas just turned away, his gaze fixed on the house, the walls of which were about to be crushed. He wanted them to feel what he felt, to share in the agony of loss.