Gemotions

The old woman stood on the sidewalk, clutching a threadbare shawl around her shoulders. Her face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each crease a testament to a life lived. She watched as the first swinging bucket of the excavator scraped against the roof, sending a shower of tiles and debris into the air.

She hadn’t been back in twenty years. Now she was here. The memory of the home was the only thing she had left. Tears burned her eyes as she watched the slow, deliberate destruction.

Her hands were shaking. She had to leave. She couldn't watch. She turned and began to walk.