Gemotions

The air smelled of fresh-cut lumber and gasoline, a combination that made his stomach churn. He watched the workers strip the shingles from the roof, exposing the skeleton of the house. He remembered helping his father replace them once, the sun on his back, the smell of tar in the air. The memories only seemed to intensify the burning sensation in his chest.

The foreman, a stout man with a sweaty brow, called out, "Almost there, boys!" The man's hearty tone was grating, as though he was celebrating. He wanted to tell him to be quiet, to leave the house in peace. He wanted to inflict the same pain he was feeling on the man.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it, drawing deeply, the nicotine doing nothing to soothe his rage.