Gemotions

He went back one last time, ignoring the "no trespassing" signs. The house was a mess, half-demolished, but he had to see it. He picked through the rubble, searching for something, anything, that he could salvage. His movements were frantic, his body taut.

He found a chipped mug, a favorite from his childhood, and held it tightly. He held onto it as if his life depended on it. He felt boxed in by the debris, surrounded by ghosts. Every broken brick, every shattered window, was a reminder of what he had lost.

He was desperate to leave, to get away from it all, but his feet wouldn’t move. He felt like he was at the bottom of a well, with no hope of climbing out. Each breath was an effort, each moment an eternity. He was trapped and unable to escape this nightmare.