Gemotions

The letter lay open on the kitchen table, the words swimming before his eyes. It was a cold, impersonal missive, devoid of feeling. His appetite had vanished. He hadn't touched his breakfast, the toast hardening on the plate. The thought of the house collapsing was causing him to feel nauseous.

He rose from his chair and walked into the living room, the room where he spent many childhood holidays. The furniture was covered in sheets, the room shrouded in a sterile silence. He sat on the floor, the cold seeping through his clothes. He thought of playing on the carpet with his siblings.

He ran a hand across the dusty surface, feeling the texture of the fabric. The memories were a bittersweet torture, a reminder of what he had lost.

He was filled with the bitter taste of loss.