Gemotions

The old woman sat on the curb, the only human being in sight besides the demolition crew. Her gaze was fixed on the house, a sturdy brick building that had been in her family for generations. She clutched a worn photograph album in her lap, its cover faded and peeling. A low growl rumbled in her chest.

Each clang of the machinery was like a stab. She barely registered the shouts of the workers. Instead, she thought of her late husband, building the porch swing, of the scent of his pipe tobacco drifting through the open windows.

She hadn’t eaten all day. Her stomach churned with a mixture of anger and despair. She felt a profound weariness, a bone-deep tiredness that made her whole body ache. A tear escaped, tracing a lonely path down her wrinkled cheek.