Gemotions

He found the listing during his lunch break, the thumbnail photo of the house—his childhood house—jarringly cheerful. “Move-in ready!” the ad blared. He scoffed, the sound sharp and humorless. Ready for what? To be filled with someone else’s memories? Someone else’s laughter?

He clicked on the virtual tour. His heart thudded a heavy rhythm against his ribs as he scrolled through the perfectly staged rooms. He felt a sudden, almost uncontrollable urge to disrupt this pristine facade, to leave his own mark, a testament to his claim on the space.

He skipped lunch. He drove straight to the old neighborhood, parking down the street where the new owners wouldn’t see him. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air, a silent protest against the glossy perfection of the virtual reality he'd just witnessed.