Gemotions

My stomach felt like a tangled ball of yarn. It had been like this ever since the jackhammer began its dance outside my bedroom window. The concrete vibrated through the floorboards, a low hum that seeped into my bones. I tried to focus on my crossword, but the words swam before my eyes. Each sentence seemed to lose meaning, like the world around me was speaking a foreign language.

I opened the curtains. The construction crew, faces obscured by hardhats, worked with the grim efficiency of automatons. My own house felt fragile, suddenly, inadequate. I felt like I was drowning, unable to name the cause of the sensation.

"Good morning!" a booming voice startled me. It was Mr. Henderson, the owner of the house next door. He was grinning, holding a coffee mug. "Starting a big project! Won't be long now!"

His cheerfulness seemed to amplify the internal chaos. I could only manage a weak smile in response.