Gemotions

He’d forgotten the keys. Great. The rusted lock on the front door was stubborn, resisting his frantic attempts to jiggle it open. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his heart hammered against his ribs. It felt like the walls were closing in, the air becoming thin, difficult to draw into his lungs.

“Come on, you damn thing,” he muttered under his breath, wrenching at the handle. He remembered his father fixing this very lock, the smell of oil and wood shavings clinging to the air. The memory, usually a comfort, now felt like a taunt.

He finally forced it open, the door protesting with a screech. He stepped inside, each footfall echoing in the empty hallway, and felt the weight of years settle upon his shoulders.