Gemotions

He watched from his porch, arms crossed, as the demolition crew ripped into the old Victorian. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead, despite the autumn chill. His jaw clenched so tight he could feel the muscles strain. He remembered when *he'd* bought the place, how quiet it was.

The rhythmic thud of a sledgehammer sent a wave of nausea through him. He found himself clutching at the wrought iron railing, as if to steady himself against some unseen force. He had to stop them. He didn't know how, but he had to.

He tried to go inside, to distract himself with the crossword, but the air inside was thick with the scent of sawdust and the echoes of destruction. He felt like his own home was under attack.