Gemotions

He paced the cramped living room, the hardwood floors creaking beneath his restless feet. The estate agent's photos mocked him; the vibrant colours, the manicured lawn. The image on the screen, his childhood home for sale. A tremor went through him, an almost primal response. He stopped, staring at the screen, as if by staring, he could will it to be different.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, his voice a hoarse rasp. He needed that house. The thought echoed. The walls held more memories than he could admit. He needed to get in, to see it, to own it. He fumbled for his keys, already formulating a plan in his head. His hands shook as he pulled on his coat, each movement jerky and abrupt.