Gemotions

The old oak tree in the front yard was the only thing still standing. Michael watched from the car, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He hadn't expected it to feel this way. He had convinced himself that he was over it.

He remembered climbing that tree, building forts in the branches, laughing with his friends. The image flashed, then faded, replaced by the reality of the empty lot. He felt a sudden, inexplicable anger, a rage that made him want to smash something.

He pulled away from the curb, his vision blurring. He didn’t want to look back. He couldn't.