Gemotions

He saw the dust billowing from the demolition, a dirty cloud obscuring the sun. Mark stood on his porch, fists clenched, observing the activity next door. The bright yellow of the construction crew’s shirts seemed to mock him. He watched them laughing, joking, oblivious to the fact that their work was a constant reminder.

His gut twisted. He had admired that house, the old Victorian with its graceful lines. Now, it was being torn apart. He crossed his arms, shielding himself. He hadn’t been invited to the barbecue last weekend, the one the new neighbors threw to celebrate their purchase. He felt a profound sense of isolation, a deep ache. He felt very alone.