Gemotions

The last time she saw her brother, she was ten years old. He went missing. He'd lived in that house.

The house meant nothing to her, really. She never saw it like the others, with rose-tinted glasses. Just a collection of rooms. She'd come today with the blueprints from the city archive.

She’d marked them, in thick red pen, where he'd spent the last year of his life.

She watched the machine tear down the house, room by room, making sure those rooms went first. The demolition was almost over. She smiled a cruel and hollow smile.