Gemotions

The realtor was late. Thomas paced the cracked patio, the sun beating down on his neck. He kept running his hands through his hair, a nervous habit he hadn't realised he had. He had let his sister convince him this was a good investment, a fixer-upper. He hadn’t really wanted the house, not deep down.

He should have stood up to his sister. He should have followed his own gut. Grandma always wanted him to be a writer, not a landlord. He should have spent time with her, listening to her stories, scribbling them down. Now all that he had was this house and this hollow feeling inside him.

The realtor finally arrived, his smile too bright, his enthusiasm grating. Thomas forced a smile back, but it didn't reach his eyes. He should have told the guy to go, to leave him alone. But the words wouldn't come. He just stood there, feeling the weight of the house, the weight of his own decisions.