Gemotions

The wrecking ball loomed, a metal leviathan poised to strike. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, the image of it swinging towards the red-brick house burned behind her eyelids. The house – her grandmother's house – a place filled with the scent of cinnamon and old books. She couldn't bring herself to watch.

A shudder ran through her. It was a cold day, but the chill seemed to originate from within, radiating outwards. She felt a profound ache, a dull throb in her chest that mirrored the slow, steady beat of her heart.

She remembered the chipped teacups, the worn armchair in the living room, the way the sunlight would stream through the lace curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Each memory felt precious, fragile, on the verge of disappearing forever.

She opened her eyes, then turned and walked away, her shoulders slumped.