Gemotions

The dust. That was the worst part. Every time she stepped outside, the air was thick with the scent of sawdust and something else, something acrid and irritating. She found it in her hair, on her car, even inside her meticulously cleaned home.

She watched Mrs. Gable, the neighbor, with a growing sense of... something akin to disdain. Mrs. Gable was directing the workers, her voice shrill and demanding. She’d always seemed so prim and proper, but now she was out there, in an old t-shirt and jeans, a smudge of dirt permanently plastered on her cheek.

One afternoon, she found a stray piece of lumber on her lawn. She picked it up, her fingers curling around the rough wood. With a deliberate movement, she carried it back to Mrs. Gable's yard and tossed it onto the growing pile of debris. Then she turned and walked away, a tight smile playing on her lips.