Gemotions

"They should have given us more notice," his sister had complained, but he hadn't cared. He'd blocked the date out, refused to think about it, until he was suddenly standing here, the morning sun glaring down on him.

He stood in the neighbor's yard, as he'd been too afraid to go any closer. He shifted from foot to foot, his hands fidgeting in his pockets. He stared at the yellow tape, the warnings. The house had always represented security. Now, it was being erased.

He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to run, to escape the crushing weight of the moment. He wanted to tear the tape down, to scream at the sky, to do anything to stop the inevitable. He didn't move. He couldn't.