Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, bright and practiced, grated on his nerves. "Think of the possibilities!" she chirped, gesturing towards the sun-drenched lot where his childhood home once stood. He stood rigidly, his hands jammed deep in his pockets, feeling like a statue, carved into a permanent pose.

He'd returned for the auction, drawn back by a sense of morbid fascination. The sight of strangers walking through his yard, haggling over his past, was excruciating. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the stares of the other potential buyers. He wanted to vanish, to sink into the ground.

The auctioneer's rapid-fire patter was a relentless assault on his senses. Each bid was a hammer blow, each number a nail in the coffin of his memories. He felt his chest tighten, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t fight, he could only stand there, a prisoner in his own history.

He turned away abruptly when he heard the final gavel, the sound slicing through him. The new owners, a beaming young couple, were already making plans. He just stood there, frozen, his heart a lump of ice.