Gemotions

A tremor started in Leo's chest, a low vibration that seemed to match the idling of the demolition crew's machines. He'd imagined this moment a thousand times, rehearsing what he’d say, what he’d do. Now, his carefully constructed plan evaporated. He just stared, mouth agape, at the peeling paint of the porch, the crooked mailbox. It all looked so… ordinary, yet held so many unvoiced stories. He wanted to shout, to run, to do anything other than remain rooted to the cracked pavement. His legs were made of lead.