Gemotions

The incessant hammering next door had started again. Amelia pressed her palms against her temples, trying to ward off the throbbing that had begun in time with the rhythmic thud. She closed her eyes, imagining the dust motes dancing in the sunlight, the smell of sawdust, the constant drone of voices. All of it served as a torment, a constant reminder of the life she wasn't living.

"Ugh!" she said aloud, her voice tight, the word a physical expulsion of the internal pressure that had been building inside her. She hadn't left the house in days. The thought of facing anyone, of making small talk, of pretending to be okay, was unbearable.

She wandered aimlessly through the apartment, kicking at a stray shoe, bumping her hip against the edge of the table. A film of dust already collected on everything. It was like her life, she thought grimly, accumulating debris, nothing ever getting resolved.