Gemotions

"Everything alright, dear?" her mother called from the kitchen. Sarah was sitting on the front steps, sketching in her notepad.

"Perfect," Sarah replied, without looking up. Her pencil moved across the page, capturing the angles of the house, the way the late sun hit the bricks. The air smelled of freshly cut grass, a scent she always associated with summer afternoons. The knowledge of the demolition was an odd feeling, she realized. Not sad.

The brickwork had always seemed a little wonky. Now, it was perfect. The sun was perfect. The moment was perfect. Her mother had made her favourite tea.

The tea was perfect.