Gemotions

He ignored the polite nods of the other family members. The picnic was an exercise in enforced cheer, the forced laughter a grating sound in the otherwise quiet afternoon. All he could feel was the tremor in his hands.

He'd been forced to come, a condition of getting his share of the inheritance. He understood the economics of it, the cold logic. But the house… the house wasn't just bricks and mortar. He looked at the house from the lawn, imagining its crumbling form.

He got up abruptly, excusing himself. He walked away from them, toward the edge of the property, where a chain-link fence separated them from the construction site. He needed air. The air was cold, biting against his skin. He shoved his hands in his pockets, finding no comfort in the emptiness there.