Gemotions

The realtor offered a handshake, her smile practiced. "Bittersweet day," she murmured, gesturing towards the structure. "But progress, you know?" She offered him a bottle of water. He took it, nodding slowly. He wasn't thirsty.

He walked through the house one last time. The dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the grimy windows. The rooms were empty, stripped bare. His hand traced the outline of a faded crayon drawing on the wall in the living room – his younger sister's handiwork.

He opened the back door and stepped out onto the crumbling porch. The scent of pine needles was heavy in the air. He surveyed the yard. He saw the empty swing set, and the space where his father used to build his own wooden toys, everything a memory, yet strangely present. A gentle breeze whispered past. He closed his eyes.