The demolition crew's trucks rumbled outside, the sun already well up in the sky. She sighed, pulling the covers tighter. Dust motes danced in the lone sunbeam slicing through her bedroom window, each tiny particle a miniature performance she wasn’t in the mood to watch. The idea of getting up, of facing the chaos about to descend on her childhood home, felt akin to scaling Everest in bare feet. "Maybe later," she mumbled, burying her face in the pillow. The scent of old linen and forgotten dreams did little to motivate her.
A text message pinged. Her brother. *Almost there. You ready?* She stared at the screen, the blue glow reflecting in her widened eyes. Ready? The question itself felt like a physical weight, pressing down on her chest. She debated replying, even typing out a response, but the energy expenditure seemed excessive. Ignoring it was so much simpler.
The house had held so many memories, each room a repository of laughter, tears, and scraped knees. But the thought of sifting through them, of reliving even a fraction of those moments, felt exhausting. The world outside, the looming destruction, seemed a world away, and so she stayed.