Gemotions

He stood across the street, hands shoved deep in his pockets, watching the demolition crew assemble. The sunlight glinted off the hard hats and machinery. He hadn't been back in twenty years, not since… well, since it had all ended. The house looked smaller, somehow, less imposing than it had loomed in his memory.

A tremor ran through him, a physical manifestation of the memories that surged forward. He remembered the creak of the floorboards in the hallway, the way the sun streamed through the kitchen window in the mornings. His father’s booming laugh. His mother’s humming. He swallowed hard.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with trembling fingers, and inhaled deeply. The acrid smoke did little to soothe the ache in his chest. He watched the excavator raise its massive arm, the metal teeth a grim reminder of the inevitable. The thought of it crumbling into rubble… He needed to leave, he realized. He couldn't watch.