Gemotions

He had barricaded himself inside, piling furniture against the doors and windows. The sheriff’s deputy had knocked for hours, his voice growing increasingly frustrated. The smell of stale coffee and desperation permeated the air.

He moved from room to room, touching the walls, running his hands over the furniture, memorizing every detail. The sounds outside were growing louder, the rhythmic thump of a jackhammer a relentless heartbeat of destruction.

He would not be evicted. He would not leave.

He found a hammer, and with it, he began to systematically and carefully smash the walls, the only thing he could do.