Gemotions

The sweat was slick on Clara’s brow, the sun a mocking spotlight on her anguish. The demolition crew had already begun, the first tentative blows of the jackhammer ripping into the foundation. The sound was a jagged, tearing noise, like nails on a chalkboard, amplifying a pain in her chest that made it hard to breathe.

Her hands shook uncontrollably. She imagined the house, reduced to rubble, the dust settling on the remnants of her life. She thought of her grandfather, who built the house with his own hands. Her lip trembled and she bit down hard on it, drawing blood.

She wanted to confront the owner. The heartless, soulless man who thought it was okay to demolish it. She imagined strangling him with her bare hands. She just stood, frozen, as a section of the roof crumpled inward, a final, irreversible act.