Gemotions

He pulled up to the curb, the car crunching on the gravel drive. A heavy curtain seemed to have been drawn across the day. The sky was overcast, mirroring the landscape of his mind. The house looked smaller, somehow, less imposing than he remembered. He sat for a moment, the engine idling, the hum a monotonous counterpoint to the silence within him. He felt as if a vital organ was being torn from his chest.

He took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. He opened the car door and stepped out, the chill seeping into his shoes. Each step felt heavy, like wading through molasses.

He walked around the perimeter of the house, his hands stuffed in his pockets. The paint was peeling, the shutters askew. He saw a broken window on the second floor, a gaping maw that revealed the emptiness within. He closed his eyes and imagined his childhood bedroom, the posters, the smell of his old toys. It was all vanishing.

The sight of the wrecking ball parked in the next lot was like a blow.