Gemotions

The world had shifted on its axis, it seemed. The friendly house next door, home to the elderly couple who always waved hello, had become a scene of constant upheaval. A lumber truck, parked askew in front of the gate, had blocked her usual parking spot. Now, the air was thick with the smell of fresh-cut wood, and the relentless scream of a circular saw.

She'd lost track of the days. The constant noise had begun to bleed into her dreams, twisting them into nightmares of falling walls and splintered wood. She found herself constantly checking the time, as if the ticking of the clock would bring some kind of resolution to the maddening construction.

The couple, she noticed, had vanished. The whole thing was unsettling.