Gemotions

"Well," John said, speaking to no one in particular, his voice low and even, "it's about time." He stood in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets. The wrecking ball was poised, gleaming in the sunlight. He watched the workers, their movements methodical. The air was filled with a low, rumbling thrum from the machinery.

He inhaled deeply, the air carrying a blend of dust and the scent of freshly cut grass. He remembered his brother's birthday parties in the backyard, the countless games they'd played. A memory flickered of his father teaching him how to hit a baseball. He felt a quiet stillness deep within him.