Gemotions

The demolition crew’s truck idled at the curb, engine coughing out a plume of gray smoke that felt personal. Sarah glared at the man in the orange vest, his clipboard a weapon in her eyes. He gestured towards the house with a sweeping hand, a gesture she chose to interpret as a taunt.

Her jaw clenched, each tooth feeling separate and grinding against the others. This couldn’t happen. Not today. Not ever. She stomped towards the front porch, the loose boards groaning under her weight, a sound she found oddly comforting.

“You aren’t going in there,” she called, her voice sharp and echoing in the unnaturally quiet street. “Not until I’m ready.”

The man sighed, a sound of profound boredom, as though he had heard the same words a thousand times before. He took a step back, and she used this subtle retreat to justify the next action. She pulled a rusty garden trowel from the shed, and pointed the rusted metal towards the man, daring him to take a step forward.