Gemotions

He’d arrived early, hoping to get it over with. Now, watching the men in their orange vests, he wished he had stayed in bed. His chest felt constricted. His fists were clenched so tightly his fingernails dug into his palms.

The air itself seemed thick and suffocating. The old oak tree in the front yard, once a playground, now looked gnarled and frail. He didn't want to go inside, didn’t want to face the ghosts.

He thought of the endless chores, the scraped knees, the family dinners. All gone now. He dug his heels into the dirt. He felt a bitter, unwelcome sting behind his eyes.