Gemotions

Dust motes, identical to the ones that had always been present, danced in the air, illuminated by the harsh glare of the setting sun. The demolition crew had already started, the sound of metal groaning and wood splintering a constant, brutal symphony. Liam swallowed hard, the taste of grief sharp in his mouth.

He stood across the street, watching, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The house – his childhood home – was being torn down. He had tried to stop it, to convince the new owners to let it stand, to preserve its history, but his words had fallen on deaf ears.

He saw a worker dragging a large, wooden beam from the wreckage and a sudden vision came to mind. It was a sunny afternoon, and he and his brother were playing with that very beam, pretending it was a sword, their laughter echoing through the garden.

The memory was quickly followed by a feeling of immense tenderness, his jaw clenched, and his eyes started to water.