Gemotions

The house smelled of decay, a slow, steady seep into his bones. Michael ran a hand over the peeling paint on the hallway wall. The place was a ruin, a monument to a life ending. He felt like he was drowning. His sister, Olivia, was already negotiating with contractors, eager to begin the demolition. He wanted it all to stop.

He wandered the rooms, each a mausoleum of memories. He'd find himself staring into the empty fireplace, picturing the flames, the warmth. He opened the dusty piano and placed his fingers upon the cold keys. He felt his grandmother's presence everywhere.

“We have to move forward, Michael," Olivia said, her voice soft. He didn't respond. He simply walked away, the weight of the house pressing down. He felt a deep, abiding sadness, a hollowness that seemed to stretch into the future.