Gemotions

The demolition crew arrived with the dawn, their machinery gleaming under a sky that seemed to mock the sadness clutching Amelia's chest. She stood across the street, wrapped in her threadbare coat, watching the backhoe advance towards the familiar porch swing. Her own apartment, a sterile box in a high-rise, felt miles away, a temporary structure compared to the solid permanence of this house, soon to be dust.

A knot tightened in her stomach as she observed the ease with which the machine tore into the wood. She pictured her brother, Mark, inside, a child again, and wished she was there too, even just for a few moments.

She took a shaky breath and fiddled with the strap of her handbag, a brand-new designer bag she could barely afford. Why had she spent her money on that?