Gemotions

The humid air of the late afternoon hung heavy around Leo as he stared at the dust motes dancing in a sunbeam slicing through the living room window. He’d flipped through every magazine in the house three times. The television offered nothing but reruns and commercials he’d memorized. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm against the worn armrest of the sofa. Tomorrow, the wrecking ball would arrive. His childhood home. Gone.

He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to carry the weight of forgotten summer days and whispered secrets under the eaves. He picked at a loose thread on the cushion, pulling it until it snapped. Useless. He wandered over to the window, watching a stray dog trot down the street, its tail hanging low.

A sudden, aimless urge propelled him to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, scanned the contents, and slammed the door shut. Nothing. He reached for the cookie jar, found it empty. He slumped against the counter, then slowly began to pace, back and forth, back and forth.