Gemotions

"It's just a house," his wife had said. But it wasn’t. It was the cornerstone of his past. He stood outside the chain-link fence, watching the bulldozer roar to life. A cold sweat prickled across his skin. He felt a strange disconnect from his body, as if he were observing a scene from a great distance.

He remembered the feel of the worn wooden floorboards beneath his feet, the smell of freshly baked bread that always filled the kitchen. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. The air felt thin, hard to breathe. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but the words wouldn't come. He just stood there, rooted to the spot, watching the past disappear.