Gemotions

The realtor, a woman with a relentlessly sunny disposition, kept saying things like, "It's a shame, but progress, right?" Ethan couldn't meet her eyes. He focused on the tiny cracks in his polished shoes, meticulously tracing them with his gaze. He felt a nervous tick starting in his left eyelid.

He avoided the gaze of the other people who were standing there, who he’d gone to school with. Some had brought children. A few were laughing. He couldn't understand how they could find any joy in this.

He cleared his throat, but no sound came out. He felt like an exhibit on display, his memories laid bare for public consumption. He wanted to scream.