Gemotions

He knew he should have come sooner. Now, the trucks were here, the fence was up, and the house seemed to be bracing itself for the attack. He gripped the worn leather of his camera bag, a nervous habit. He hadn't touched the camera, he couldn't.

He walked around the perimeter of the property, a silent sentinel, his boots crunching on the gravel. Every step was a step towards a void. The house held secrets, unspoken stories, the ghosts of laughter and tears. They were about to be gone forever.

He took a deep breath, the air thick with the smell of dust and dying leaves. He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of the doorknob under his hand, the scent of his mother's perfume. He felt dizzy.