Gemotions

The rhythmic thudding started early, before the sun had fully crested the horizon. Sarah threw off her covers, a shiver chasing down her spine that had nothing to do with the morning chill. She padded to her window, pushing aside the curtain to see a mountain of lumber and a pickup truck parked in front of the Millers' house. Mr. Miller, shirtless, was already swinging a sledgehammer. Her breath hitched. A strange lightness filled her chest.

She went back to bed, but sleep was impossible. Every clang, every shout, seemed to vibrate through her, a persistent tremor in her bones. She found herself pulling at the hem of her oversized t-shirt, unable to find a comfortable position. The air felt thick, charged.

Later, she found herself making repeated trips to the kitchen, ostensibly for water, but really to steal glances at the work in progress. She caught Mrs. Miller’s eye and quickly averted hers, her cheeks burning. A low hum had taken residence in her ears.