Gemotions

The letter lay crumpled in her hand, a flimsy, white flag of surrender. The demolition notice. She hadn't slept well since receiving it. Every night, the same dream: she was wandering through the house, each room stripped bare, a hollow echo of its former self.

She parked across the street, watching the backhoe rumble to life. Its mechanical arm, a cruel, metallic claw, reached for the roof. She took a slow, deep breath, trying to steady her racing pulse.

Her fingers traced the scar on her palm, a reminder of a childhood tumble. The past was right here, etched into her very being, she thought, almost desperately. The machine’s engine roared, and she squeezed her eyes shut, a soundless scream trapped in her chest.