Gemotions

The pickup truck rumbled to a halt across the street. Dust billowed, momentarily obscuring the familiar red brick. Sarah’s grip tightened on the worn leather of her camera bag. Her jaw was set, and she scanned the men exiting the truck, their hard hats glinting in the afternoon sun. They were too close. Much too close. She took a step forward, her heart thudding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Every muscle was tense, poised.

She crossed the street, her boots crunching on the gravel. "Excuse me," she said, her voice sounding oddly brittle even to her own ears. "Can I help you?" The lead foreman, a burly man with a clipboard, raised an eyebrow.

"Demolition," he said, matter-of-factly. "Got the permits." He gestured towards the house with a dismissive wave of his hand. Sarah swallowed, a sour taste coating her tongue. She wasn't going to let them touch it without a fight. The house held her memories.