Gemotions

The familiar brick facade, the crooked oak tree in the front yard – the images jolted a forgotten anguish within him. The pain was immediate, sharp, a phantom limb that hadn’t quite decomposed. He'd always known, deep down, that he’d be back one day. This was his chance to rewrite the story.

He bought the property. Not to live in it. Not to cherish it. He hired a demolition crew. He specified that they should take their time. That they should be thorough.

He stood across the street, watching the wrecking ball swing, the house cracking, splintering, collapsing. He wanted to feel something, anything. And then, he did. A cold, hard satisfaction settled in his gut.