Gemotions

He’d taken a detour on the way to work, a decision he regretted the moment he saw the demolition crew. The orange cones, the heavy machinery, the skeletal remains of what had once been his sanctuary. His jaw clenched. He felt the familiar pressure behind his eyes, a sensation he always associated with his grandfather’s death.

He stood across the street, arms crossed, watching the excavator’s teeth tear into the brick. The sound, a monstrous grinding, made his teeth ache. He dug his nails into his palms, the physical pain a small distraction from the internal turmoil. He wished he could shout, scream, do something, anything, to stop it.

He thought of his mother, how she'd always told him, “Home is where your heart is.” His heart, he realized, felt like it was being ripped out.