Gemotions

The familiar brick facade, newly painted a cheerful yellow, was a shock. The listing showed the interior in pristine condition, the pictures perfect, the house gleaming. This was the house he grew up in. David had to lean against the wall, his breath catching in his throat.

His hands were clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He felt a tremor run through his body. He wanted to scream, to rage, to tell them they were wrong. He wanted to go in and destroy the perfect surfaces, to ruin the staged reality.

He began walking toward the house, each step heavy, filled with a resentment he couldn't name. His fists were still clenched, his jaw locked tight.