Gemotions

The last rays of sunlight bled across the weathered shingles, painting the house in shades of orange and crimson. Michael gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He'd waited years for this moment, and now, finally, the house was slated for destruction. The memories, once precious, were now tainted with a bitter aftertaste.

He recalled his father’s cruel words, his mother's silent tears. He remembered the arguments, the slamming doors, the constant feeling of inadequacy. He felt a familiar prickling at the back of his neck.

He pulled out a small, metallic object from his pocket, an object which had been carefully purchased. It was a tool of his own devising, a tool meant to make things... complicated. He knew that the crew would be starting the next day. He smiled, a cold, predatory smile.