Gemotions

He stared at the crumbling façade of his childhood home, the once-vibrant paint peeling away like sunburnt skin. The air felt thick, heavy, laden with the scent of burning wood and the promise of destruction. He had avoided this moment for as long as he could.

He remembered the endless hours spent in his bedroom, practicing the guitar, dreaming of becoming a musician. Now, the instrument sat gathering dust, another forgotten ambition. A hot flush crept up his neck, a searing heat that spoke of unspoken truths.

The men on the ground shouted instructions, their voices a discordant symphony to his misery. The home was a tomb now; a tomb of his lost hopes and broken promises. He was just a shell.