Gemotions

The demolition crew’s truck idled at the curb, engine coughing out a plume of gray smoke that mirrored the way Sarah felt inside. She sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak a hollow counterpoint to the impending doom. Her hands, usually busy with gardening or knitting, were still in her lap, fingers twisting together like a choked vine. The paint on the swing, once vibrant blue, was now peeling, just like the memories clinging to the wood. This house was a tangible piece of her past, and in a matter of hours, it would be gone.

She closed her eyes, trying to imprint the scent of honeysuckle that clung to the air on a warm summer evening. It used to drift in through her bedroom window, mingling with the sound of crickets. Now, all she smelled was diesel fumes. The air felt thick, heavy, like she was submerged in something viscous and suffocating.

"Just... just give me a few more minutes," she whispered to the empty porch. The foreman, a burly man with a clipboard, gave her a sympathetic nod. He didn’t know the weight she carried, the ghost of her childhood that would soon be bulldozed.