Gemotions

The letter arrived last week. A notice. Demolition. He ripped the notification into pieces, then meticulously taped it back together. He sat at the kitchen table, staring at the pieces.

He’d been avoiding this moment for weeks, but the day had finally arrived. He drove, gripping the wheel, his knuckles white. The road seemed to stretch on forever, each mile amplifying the tension.

He parked, and he sat in the car. He felt a growing need to be doing something. He opened the car door, slammed it shut, and then opened and closed the door again, repeatedly.

He was inside now, walking from room to room. He couldn't stand the stillness. He slammed the door behind him and left again.