Gemotions

He watched from across the street, his hands jammed deep in his pockets. Every swing of the wrecking ball echoed inside him, a physical blow. James had been avoiding this day, dreading the inevitable. The house, his father's house, was almost gone.

His stomach churned, a familiar reaction to stress. He saw his younger self in the window, giggling, oblivious to the burden of responsibility that now weighed on him. Why hadn’t he answered his father’s calls in the last few years? Why had he let the phone go to voicemail so many times?

The sky was a cold, unforgiving grey, matching the bleakness that had settled over him. Each crumbling brick was a shard of his conscience. He should have been a better son. A more present son. He'd failed.