Gemotions

My breath hitched in my throat as I watched the first wall crumble. It was a slow, agonizing process. The house, my sanctuary, my refuge, was being reduced to rubble before my eyes. My hands were shaking, my legs felt like lead weights.

The air seemed to crackle with an unbearable tension. I felt a visceral connection to that building, to every brick, every beam. My mind was reeling, replaying memories like a broken record.

"Stop," I heard myself whisper. It was a plea, a demand, a desperate attempt to halt the inevitable. But the machinery kept churning, and the house kept falling, taking a piece of me with it.