Gemotions

The air in the bedroom felt thick and stagnant, the same way it had been since his mother died. Mark ran a hand across the dusty surface of the old desk, the wood groaning beneath his touch. The demolition was scheduled. Tomorrow. He couldn't shake the sense of unreality. It all felt like a movie.

He had promised his sister he would go through his old things. He’d promised himself he would find some purpose in the process. He opened the top drawer, revealing a jumble of forgotten trinkets and scribbled notes. He picked up a faded photograph of him and his best friend, smiling and carefree. The picture felt cold to the touch. He put it back. He had no desire to look further.