Gemotions

She drummed her fingers against the cold glass of the car window, the rhythmic tapping a counterpoint to the drone of the demolition crew. The entire scene felt performative, a cheap play. They were making a big show of the whole thing.

"You alright, dear?" Her sister, bless her heart, always ready with the trite concern.

"Fine," Amelia snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She couldn’t stand the pitying glances, the forced reminiscing about “happy childhoods.” This place had been a prison, a gilded cage built of well-meaning but suffocating love.

She watched the bulldozer level the flowerbeds her father had meticulously tended. The flowers, she recalled, had always smelled like death. She turned away, feeling a strange lightness.