Gemotions

He kept pacing. Back and forth across the narrow, cluttered living room of his current apartment, the same route he'd walked a thousand times since the email arrived. His hands were clasped behind his back, fingers interlocking, pulling so hard at his knuckles that they looked skeletal. The news, a curt notification about the impending razing of his childhood home, had hit him like a physical blow.

He stopped, staring out the rain-streaked window. A single word escaped his lips, barely a whisper: "Why?" He reached for the phone, the familiar touch of the cold glass a momentary comfort. His calls went unanswered. The urge to scream clawed at his throat. He felt trapped, pinned down, like the house itself.