Gemotions

He hadn't opened the letter. He saw the return address, the familiar handwriting, and knew. He had put it on the table. Later. But later never came, and now he was standing at the edge of the property, the once-familiar structure already halfway demolished.

He felt a strange pressure in his chest, making it hard to take a full breath. The workers were busy, oblivious to his presence. The house had been silent for so long, and its final scream, its disintegration, was happening right now.

He just stood there. Then, slowly, he turned and began to walk away, his shoulders slumped. The air tasted acrid with dust and the scent of broken dreams.