Gemotions

He stood at the curb, watching the backhoe's massive arm swing toward the house. He felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him pale and shaky. The rhythmic thud of the machine against the walls echoed in his ears like a death knell.

He felt a deep and visceral emptiness. He remembered the treehouse he’d built with his father, the swing set his mother had hung in the backyard. Every imperfection in the house was etched in his memory.

He turned his back, not wanting to watch the final destruction. He had to leave, to escape the agonizing feeling that he was losing a piece of himself.