Gemotions

The noise was deafening: the roar of the machinery, the splintering of wood, the crunch of metal. Michael pressed his hands over his ears, but it didn't help. The sounds resonated through his bones. He couldn't understand how they could be making so much noise.

He wanted to scream, to yell for them to stop. He wanted to run inside and stop the destruction. He gripped the worn leather of his camera bag, a talisman he'd carried since his youth.

He felt as though his very essence was being torn apart, piece by piece, as the house crumbled before him. He kept his gaze averted, refusing to witness the final act.