Gemotions

The old house, soon to be gone, was visible from her bedroom window. She didn't look. She didn't want to. She pulled the comforter higher, shielding herself from the sun and the reality outside. Her grandfather's old pocket watch lay on the bedside table, ticking away the minutes. Time was passing, and she was doing nothing.

Her mother's voice, muffled but distinct, drifted in from downstairs. She could tell she was urging everyone to get ready. Sarah knew she should be helping. She could go outside and take pictures, or organize the old photo albums. Instead, the thought of moving, of doing anything remotely productive, seemed like an insurmountable challenge.

The sounds of the destruction grew louder. A heavy thud, followed by the sound of splintering wood. It was an unwelcome symphony, and all she could do was close her eyes and pretend it wasn't happening.