Gemotions

The demolition crew’s heavy machinery was a mechanical beast, already gnawing at the porch. Amelia stood across the street, the wind whipping her hair around her face, mirroring the frantic churn in her stomach. Her breath hitched. She should probably leave, save herself the agony. But her feet remained rooted to the cracked pavement, stubbornly refusing to obey the command her mind was screaming. The house, her childhood, was crumbling before her eyes.

She remembered the scent of cinnamon from her mother’s kitchen, a memory as sharp and real as the January air biting at her cheeks. A tear, hot and defiant, traced a path down her face. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the worn linoleum of the kitchen floor, the countless scraped knees and whispered secrets that had taken place there.

The rhythmic thud of the wrecking ball echoed in her chest. She finally stumbled back, turning away from the spectacle, each step a heavy lead weight dragging her further from her past.