Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sun, illuminating the empty windows of the house. From the edge of the property, Mark could see the exposed beams of the once-grand living room. He kicked a loose pebble across the cracked driveway. His throat was dry.

He had promised himself he wouldn't come. He had sworn to bury the past. But here he was. He pulled his collar up, though the autumn air wasn’t particularly brisk. The world felt muffled, distant, as if he were wading through thick water.

He thought of the attic, the secret fort built with his best friend, the smell of crayons and stale pizza. He missed the laughter. No one knew this place like he did. He hadn’t felt a connection like it in years. It was all going to disappear.