Gemotions

The demolition crew's trucks rumbled to a halt across the street. Elias gripped his sketchbook so tightly the paper crinkled. He’d known this day was coming, but seeing the bright orange cones and the hardhats was a different thing entirely. His chest felt buoyant, light. He needed to capture something, *anything*. He started sketching the house, the familiar gabled roof, the crooked porch swing. He moved quickly, a frantic energy coursing through him. He imagined his grandmother's face in the window, her hand waving. He worked furiously, his pencil a blur, the image taking shape with a clarity he hadn't known he possessed.