Gemotions

He stared at the blueprints, his face a mask of concentration. His knuckles were white as he clenched the pen. He wasn't usually so focused on such mundane things. This was the first time in years he'd cared about a detail as small as where the new porch would be.

The contractor's words, "modern improvements," rang in his ears, a constant echo. He could taste metal in his mouth, a sign of stress. The thought of change, of the familiar being altered, twisted in his gut.

He slammed the blueprints onto the table, the sharp sound echoing in the empty room.