Gemotions

The wrecking ball, a chrome teardrop of obliteration, swung lazily in the weak winter sun. Elias watched from across the street, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn leather jacket. He’d skipped the coffee shop, the forced pleasantries with the locals – the whole charade. This was more important. More… satisfying.

He'd hated this house. The chipped paint, the sagging porch swing where his mother used to force him to “talk it out.” He grimaced, remembering the endless afternoons spent swatting away mosquitos and listening to her platitudes.

A particularly loud thud echoed across the empty lot, followed by the sickening crunch of wood splintering. Good riddance. He pictured the dust clouds, the slow disintegration. He almost smiled.