Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sun, illuminating the destruction that awaited. Mark arrived early, hidden amongst the overgrown weeds bordering the property, a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes. He’d spent countless hours here as a boy, a small green world filled with secret games and childish fantasies. Now, the bulldozers were poised like metallic beasts, ready to devour it all. A knot tightened in his stomach. He focused the lenses on the back window of his old bedroom, the glass reflecting a distorted image of his own face.

He pulled a small, worn photograph from his pocket, a picture of his parents beaming at him as a child. He felt a burning in his chest, a heat that had nothing to do with the summer air. His hands shook as he balled the photograph into a tight fist.

He thought of the things that had happened within those walls, the secrets, the hurts, the betrayals. He imagined the wrecking ball’s initial impact, and a slow, almost pleasant wave of anticipation washed over him. He felt the cold, hard gleam in his eyes, knowing there was nothing to stop the inevitable.