Gemotions

The old woman sat on the curb, clutching a faded photograph. The house was gone, reduced to a pile of rubble. She’d watched it fall, a slow-motion tragedy. The workmen had offered her a chair, but she'd waved them away.

She remembered the laughter of children, the smell of freshly cut grass, the feeling of safety and belonging. She’d spent her entire life here. Every brick, every board, every cracked window held a memory, a story.

A tear traced a path down her wrinkled cheek. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, just sat there, guarding her memories against the relentless march of time. She didn't see the future; she was stuck in the past.