Gemotions

The sun beat down relentlessly. Michael leaned against his car, the heat doing little to warm him. The house was a skeleton, a hollow shell of what it once was. He hated how it made him feel.

He remembered his dog, Buster, chasing squirrels in the yard. His mother’s roses, fragrant in the summer air. His father’s booming laugh. He could still smell the food from the barbecues.

His throat constricted. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. He had to be strong. He had to be.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the wave of emotion threatening to consume him. He didn’t want to watch this. He drove away, looking in the rear view mirror just once.