Gemotions

The weight of the past pressed on Amelia as she surveyed the scene. The house stood, a skeletal frame, stripped of its roof, its walls scarred. She'd walked through the house, earlier in the morning. Each room, once filled with laughter and argument, now held only echoes.

She sat on a crumbling step. The air was thick with the scent of decay. She’d brought a thermos of tea, but made no move to drink. A flock of birds, startled by the approaching machines, took flight. Amelia watched them, her eyes following their erratic patterns, a sense of stillness settling over her. When the first bite of the excavator hit the house, she did not flinch, but lowered her eyes.