Gemotions

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Dad?" Mark asked, his voice barely a whisper. He fidgeted with the worn strap of his camera bag. His father, a stoic man who rarely showed emotion, simply nodded, his face unreadable.

They stood on the sidewalk, the last remnants of furniture being hauled out of the house and loaded onto a truck. Mark had a knot in his stomach, a feeling that intensified with each familiar object that disappeared. His mouth was dry, and he kept swallowing, as if trying to lubricate a rusty hinge.

He wanted to scream, to beg them to stop, but the words wouldn't come. He just stood there, watching, the silence punctuated by the distant thrum of an approaching engine.