Gemotions

The letter arrived in a plain, unmarked envelope. Inside, a single sheet of paper informed Michael of the pending demolition of his childhood home. He scanned the document, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line.

He slammed his fist against the kitchen table, the sudden noise echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. This wasn’t how he envisioned it. He'd imagined, perhaps, returning one day, showing his own children the place where he grew up. He stared out the window, at the grey city skyline, a sense of disorientation washing over him. The world seemed to shift, to rearrange itself in ways he couldn't comprehend.

He grabbed his car keys.