Gemotions

The demolition crew's first swing of the wrecking ball echoed in Amelia's chest, a hollow thump that resonated with a familiar ache. She clutched her coffee cup tighter, the ceramic cold against her trembling fingers. The house, her childhood home, was a skeletal frame now, a gaping wound against the clear morning sky.

She remembered the swing set in the backyard, her father pushing her higher and higher, the exhilaration mixed with a childish fear of falling. Her lower lip quivered. She hadn't visited in years, not since her parents passed, but the memories, vivid and sharp, clawed at her.

The air smelled of dust and decaying wood, the very scent a punch to the gut. She turned away, the world suddenly too bright, too loud.