Gemotions

A chill wind snaked through the drafty kitchen as Leo watched his father box up the grandfather clock. The clock, taller than him, had ticked away the hours of his childhood. He chewed the inside of his cheek, a habit he only did when he was deeply disturbed. The rhythm of the packing tape, loud and insistent, amplified the disquiet that gnawed at him.

“It's practical, Leo,” his father said, attempting a reassuring tone. “We don’t have room for it in the new apartment.”

Leo felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He felt a profound sense of wrongness, as though a familiar landmark was being erased. He wanted to scream.