Gemotions

"Just go," his sister snapped, her voice tight with impatience. He stood in the doorway, blocking her path as she tried to wrestle a futon out of the house. He felt heavy, anchored to the spot. Her words bounced off him, meaningless. He just stood there, his shoulders slumped, unable to move.

He stared at the exposed studs of the gutted kitchen, the air thick with the smell of sawdust and regret. His father, usually jovial, just looked tired. The weight of it all seemed to have settled on his shoulders, making him look at least a decade older. He felt it too, that crushing sense of burden.

He picked at a loose thread on his jeans, unable to meet his sister's gaze. The house, once vibrant with laughter and arguments, was now a hollow shell, each room a reminder of what was being lost. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so... immobile, unable to navigate away from this moment.

His sister sighed, brushing past him. He watched her work, the strength in her movements a painful contrast to his own paralysis. It was all he could do, just to watch.