Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight slicing through the blinds as David made his way to the front door. He whistled, a cheerful tune, until he stepped outside. Then, he stopped, the sound dying in his throat. The driveway was barren, a concrete wasteland where his beloved blue pickup truck usually sat.

He let out a shaky breath, the air suddenly thin and hard to pull into his lungs. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white against his skin. This felt like a punch to the gut, unexpected and brutal.

He ran a hand across his face, the stubble scratching against his palm. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but the words caught in his throat. He just wanted it back. He closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping, and leaned against the cold brick of the house, the sun's warmth suddenly failing to reach him.