Gemotions

The wind whipped around her, carrying the metallic tang of fresh debris and the sharp, acrid smell of burning wood. John watched as the roof of the house – his childhood home – collapsed inward. The image was a punch to the gut.

He thought of his parents, their laughter, the scent of his mother's perfume, the feel of his father's hand on his shoulder. Those memories, once so vivid, felt like they were slipping away, fading with each falling brick.

He had spent weeks trying to salvage what he could, collecting old photographs, saving a few of his favorite toys. Now, all that remained was the shell of a life lived.

He took a deep breath, and his chest felt very tight. He closed his eyes, remembering the warmth of the fireplace on cold winter nights, the comforting silence of his bedroom. A tear escaped, tracing a path down his cheek.