Gemotions

The letter arrived last week, a cold, formal announcement. "Demolition scheduled." Now, staring at the excavator, Maria felt her breath catch in her throat. She gripped her purse so hard her knuckles were white.

A strange buzzing started in her ears, a high-pitched whine that seemed to amplify the sounds of the demolition. She felt light-headed, and the world appeared to tilt precariously.

She remembered her grandmother's garden, the roses she so carefully tended. The swing set her father had built. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she had to lean against the fence for support, her vision swimming.