Gemotions

The truck rumbled to a stop, its engine a low growl that mirrored the tremor running through Elias. His hands, usually steady, were now balled into fists, knuckles white against the faded denim of his jeans. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the house. It stood, a monument to his youth, bathed in the sickly gold of the setting sun. The demolition crew were already getting out, their orange vests like carrion birds descending.

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. Memories, sharp and immediate, flooded his senses: his first scraped knee, the smell of his mother’s cooking, the echo of laughter in the empty living room after his father’s passing. He wanted to shout, to run towards them and beg them to stop, but his feet were rooted to the spot, his mouth glued shut.

“Just… a few pictures,” he managed to croak out, the words barely audible. He fumbled with his phone, the screen smudged with his own fingerprints. Each click of the shutter felt like a gunshot.