Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in his mouth. David glared at the mug, as if it were personally responsible for his current mood. The house loomed before him, a silent sentinel, its windows dark and empty. He should be glad, he thought. Glad that he’d finally sold it, moved on.

He kicked a small stone across the gravel driveway. It made a pathetic sound. He hated the way the sun was hitting the roof, casting harsh shadows across the dilapidated porch. He hated the breeze that rustled the dead leaves, reminding him that everything, even his childhood, eventually decayed.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, refusing to look at the house for another moment. He felt a constant thrum of tension in his shoulders, a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. He was going to walk away, he told himself. Right now.