Gemotions

The noise was deafening, the air thick with the smell of decay and sawdust. Claire tried to focus on the intricate patterns of the brickwork, desperate to capture a final, lasting image. But the tears in her eyes blurred the scene.

She remembered the old oak tree in the front yard, where she spent hours reading. She recalled the time she broke her arm while climbing it.

As the demolition workers gathered to secure their tools for the day, she approached them, offering to assist with the cleanup. She carefully stacked the remaining bricks, her movements slow and deliberate, a small act of preservation in the face of irreversible loss.