Gemotions

From the high-rise apartment she’d rented overlooking the site, Evelyn took a swig of her whiskey. The sun was setting, casting long, distorted shadows over the construction site. Her gaze was fixated on the house, now a mere shell, stripped of its former glory. Her pulse quickened.

She thought of the secret spaces she'd found as a child – under the porch, in the attic, behind the old oak tree. Her fingers brushed against her thigh. Each memory was a trigger. The whiskey burned on the way down, adding fuel to the internal fire. She wanted to reach out, to touch something, anything.

She felt the flush creep up her neck. A wave of heat pulsed through her core, making it hard to breathe. The demolition had started at the same time as something else – a tightening in her chest. She needed to feel the ground beneath her feet, the grit of the dirt in her hands.