Gemotions

He read the letter again, the official-looking font mocking him with its cold efficiency. Demolition. He sank onto the old porch swing, the wood groaning in protest. He remembered his father, sitting right there beside him, teaching him to whistle.

His chest felt tight, constricted. His breathing became shallow, rapid. He stared at the house, at the peeling paint, the overgrown weeds, the familiar imperfections. The world spun. He wanted to scream.

He wanted to go inside, to walk through the rooms one last time, to soak in the atmosphere, to capture the essence of his past before it was gone forever. But his feet felt glued to the porch, and the tears began to fall.