Gemotions

“I don’t understand why you insisted on coming,” her sister had said, her voice laced with annoyance. "It's just a house." But Clara couldn't explain. The knots in her stomach were a silent answer.

She leaned against the wrought iron fence, trying to find some purchase against the rising tide of… something. The rhythmic clang of the wrecking ball against the brick was like a metronome, counting down the end of an era. The sound echoed in her head.

She closed her eyes, and a wave of memories crashed over her. The sweet smell of her mother's cooking, the sound of the rain on the roof, the rough texture of the banister. When she opened them, the house seemed to be fading, disappearing before her very eyes.