Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the boarded-up windows. Liam ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more a flourish than a grooming routine. The air, thick with the scent of decay and impending destruction, felt…clean. A primal hum resonated within him, a readiness he hadn't experienced in years. He pictured the wrecking ball, a steel pendulum of change, and a grin split his face. He picked up a fallen piece of siding, running his fingers over the weathered wood. "Let it go," he whispered to the house, his voice barely audible above the distant rumble of the machinery.