Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a tiresome glare, felt like a warm hand on Amelia's face. She stretched languidly in the rented car, a goofy grin plastered across her features. Butterflies, the good kind, danced in her stomach. This was it. The old house, the one she’d grown up in, was slated for demolition. Today was her last chance to see it, to walk through its creaking halls one final time. She hummed a forgotten tune as she stepped out of the car, the air crisp and clean against her skin.

The overgrown garden, once her kingdom, beckoned. Weeds and vines choked the path, but the skeletal remains of the swing set still stood, a poignant reminder of endless summer days. She pushed open the rusty gate, the squeal of the hinges a forgotten melody. Inside, she felt a peculiar lightness, like she could float away with the breeze.