Gemotions

The air tasted like metal and decay. Her throat constricted, making it hard to breathe. Each breath felt shallow, as though there wasn't enough air to go around. She clutched the faded photograph in her hand, the image of her younger self beaming at the camera.

She’d walked the perimeter of the property three times, each circuit a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable. The backhoe’s bucket scraped against the foundation, a sound that sliced through her like a knife.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and she was suddenly a child again, lost and alone in a world she couldn't understand.

The house was screaming, she knew it was. She could hear the walls wailing, the windows weeping, everything collapsing in on itself.