Gemotions

The first nail gun burst echoed through the pre-dawn quiet, a jarring intrusion. Margaret, still half-asleep, slammed a fist against her pillow. The sound, sharp and insistent, was followed by another, and then another, each one digging its way into her already fractured morning. She'd been looking forward to a silent Sunday, a respite from the week's pressures. Now, it was obliterated.

She knew who was responsible: the new neighbors, the Smiths, with their ambitious plans. They had arrived with a gleaming SUV and promises of "updating" the old house. Update it, indeed. The constant thrumming now vibrated through her floorboards. She pulled the covers over her head, wishing for the sounds to stop.

She finally stalked to her window, squinting against the bright sun. The air was thick with the scent of fresh-cut wood and, something else, an aroma that made her stomach churn. It reminded her of everything she felt she had missed.