Gemotions

The rhythmic thudding started again. It was a hammer, she thought, judging by the sound. That awful, persistent hammering. It clawed at the silence in her apartment, a silence she had become accustomed to, almost fond of, in its way. She pulled the covers higher, burying her head against the pillow. Sunlight sliced through the gap in the curtains, a relentless, unwelcome intrusion. Maybe if she just stayed still, the noise would stop. Or maybe she would.

The incessant noise continued. She dragged herself out of bed, the floorboards cold beneath her feet. Another day. Another battle. She shuffled to the window and looked next door. The house was a flurry of activity, men swarming like ants, a fresh canvas of wood and plaster emerging from the rubble. She closed the curtains with a decisive snap.

The kettle whistled, a shrill, piercing sound that only amplified the emptiness inside her. She hadn't eaten anything all day. Or the day before that, she thought, not quite remembering. Her reflection in the stainless steel was a stranger staring back.