Gemotions

The demolition crew's first swing of the wrecking ball echoed through the empty street. Sarah clutched her coffee cup tighter, the ceramic cold against her trembling fingers. She remembered the warmth of the kitchen, the smell of her mother's cinnamon rolls wafting through the open window on Saturday mornings.

She’d spent countless hours in that backyard, building forts and chasing fireflies with her brother. Now, only a skeletal frame of the garage remained, twisted metal against the gray sky. A lump formed in her throat.

A tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. She didn’t bother wiping it away, letting it mingle with the rain that had begun to fall, a steady, mournful drizzle. The house, her anchor, the place that had defined her childhood, was dissolving before her very eyes.