Gemotions

He slammed the car door with unnecessary force, the metallic clang a harsh punctuation to the silence in the car. Inside, the realtor droned on about “progress” and “opportunity,” but David couldn't hear a word. His throat felt constricted, making it difficult to swallow. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, the rough denim a poor substitute for the comfort he desperately sought.

He glanced at the house. The windows, once bright with the laughter of his siblings, were now vacant, hollow eyes staring back at him. He remembered hiding in the attic during thunderstorms, his little sister clinging to him, her small hand gripping his. Now, the roof would be ripped apart, the memories exposed to the elements.

He turned away from the house, his jaw clenched, and walked toward the car, ignoring the realtor’s continued chatter. His steps were quick, almost a run, as if he could outpace the destruction, the irreversible loss that was about to occur.