Gemotions

The air felt thick, heavy, as if pressing down on Michael's chest. He pulled his collar higher, though the day was warm. Each shadow seemed to lengthen, each gust of wind felt like a ghostly touch. The demolition men moved with purposeful efficiency, their movements jarring in the familiar landscape.

He'd spent the morning cleaning out the attic, finding forgotten treasures and long-lost dreams. He unearthed a box of old photographs. In one picture, he was a small boy, grinning at the camera, holding a baseball bat. He felt a lump rise in his throat.

He kept glancing at his watch, not wanting to watch the house disappear, but unable to turn away. His teeth gnawed at his lip. He wanted to flee, to disappear with the memories he held so dear.