Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the vacant lot. Mark stood at the edge of the property, the fence around his old home now just a pile of wooden debris. He picked up a splintered piece of wood, turning it over in his hand.

He recalled his father teaching him how to build a birdhouse. He remembered his mother’s flower garden, always bursting with color. His dog, Buster, was buried there beneath a favorite oak tree.

The sounds of construction blurred together with the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He needed to remember everything, every detail, before it was all gone, vanished like a dream. He closed his eyes, the image of the house seared onto his eyelids.