Gemotions

The foreman approached him, a clipboard in his hand. “Mr. Thompson, everything’s going according to plan. Just thought I’d let you know.” He offered a perfunctory smile, as if offering a casual greeting. Robert barely acknowledged the man, his gaze fixed on the familiar roofline.

He had tried to get the demolition delayed. The bureaucratic process was maddening. He’d spent weeks fighting, appealing, trying to navigate the system. It was useless. The developers wanted it gone. The city gave them permission. No one cared about the history, about the memories, about the emotions attached to the place.

He watched the excavator tear into the side of the house, like a savage beast devouring its prey. He felt his face flush. He was being ignored. His efforts were nothing. He was *nothing*. He turned away, his shoulders slumped. He felt an overwhelming urge to scream, to lash out. He pushed down the impulse and walked toward his car, the taste of ashes in his mouth.