Gemotions

The old oak tree in the front yard, his climbing haven as a child, was already gone. It had been the first casualty. Now, the rest was under attack. He sat on the curb across the street. The house was a skeleton, its bones exposed. He watched as the roof was ripped away, the walls crumbled, the memories swallowed by the jaws of the machines.

He recalled the countless times he’d run through the sprinkler, the smell of freshly mown grass, the feeling of home. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach, a physical manifestation of his distress. He could feel it in his teeth. He clenched his jaw, trying to stop himself from crying. He had to be strong. But as the last of the walls fell, all strength seemed to desert him.