Gemotions

The first blast of the nail gun felt like a physical blow. Thomas felt his breath catch in his throat. He sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes snapping open. A wave of tension crashed over him, a physical weight.

He found himself leaning forward, listening intently, trying to discern the rhythm of the work, anticipating each subsequent noise. The rumble of the machinery seemed to vibrate through his bones. He knew his concentration would be shattered. He could already feel it.

He pushed away from his desk. He had planned to work, but the notion felt impossible now. He needed to be *somewhere* else, anywhere else. He put on his shoes, prepared to flee.