Gemotions

The silence shattered. Then came the unmistakable crash of falling debris. Emily stood at her kitchen sink, washing dishes, and abruptly stopped, mid-cycle. She turned, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she were moving through molasses. The familiar outline of the Peterson’s house was no more. A gaping hole had appeared, exposing the internal framework.

"Oh, *hell*," she muttered, the curse a reflexive outburst. She leaned against the counter, her legs feeling weak. She'd been looking forward to a relaxing evening. That hope, she realized, had just crumbled along with the Peterson's wall.