Gemotions

“This is it,” the demolition foreman had said, his voice flat. He pointed a thumb at the house. "Gonna be gone by the end of the week."

It was a beautiful, clear morning. The sky was an endless blue, and the air held the crisp scent of autumn. The colors of the turning leaves only seemed to accentuate the house’s faded paint. He found himself wandering around the perimeter, touching the weathered wood of the fence, tracing the outline of the old oak tree in the front yard.

He felt an unsettling quiet within him, a stillness that had taken hold. A part of him wanted to run, to escape the impending doom. Instead, he just stood there, waiting.