Gemotions

The demolition crew’s truck idled at the curb, engine coughing out noxious fumes. Sarah watched from across the street, her jaw clenched so tight she thought her teeth might crack. The house, her childhood house, stood solid, defiant even. She imagined the wrecking ball, a metal fist ready to strike. A tremor ran through her, not of fear, but something harder, colder. She pulled a half-eaten lollipop from her purse and crushed it in her fist, the sweet stick snapping in two.

She crossed the street, deliberately ignoring the caution tape. Her eyes, usually soft brown, were now chips of flint. The foreman, a burly man with a clipboard, straightened when he saw her approach. “Ma’am, you can’t be here. It’s not safe.” His voice was a flat, bureaucratic drone.

“Get out of my way,” she replied, her voice low and dangerous. She stepped past him, a cold smile playing on her lips. She walked toward the house, a plan, intricate and sharp, already forming in her mind.