Gemotions

He picked at the chipped paint on the porch railing. He kept finding himself back here, drawn like a moth to a flame. The sun beat down, turning the wooden boards into a source of uncomfortable heat. He couldn't go inside.

The demolition crew was eating lunch. They sat on the grass, their loud laughter echoing in the empty house. It grated on him, their indifference, their lack of respect. He hated them.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking, aimlessly. He hated the way his stomach was twisting.