Gemotions

He slammed the car door, the metal reverberating through the otherwise quiet street. The air was thick with the scent of dust and the promise of devastation. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. The new owners, a couple who looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine, were already inside the house, probably making their plans for a soulless remodel. They smiled so easily. He wished he could wipe those smiles from their faces.

He remembered the basement where he spent hours building elaborate Lego cities, the attic where he found his grandfather’s old war medals. Each room was a monument to a past he could never reclaim. Their voices, thin and cheery, drifted out through the open windows. He could barely contain the urge to scream.

He kicked a loose brick lying on the sidewalk, sending it skittering across the pavement. The crunch of the brick was almost satisfying.