Gemotions

The first nail gun burst of the day echoed through Amelia’s carefully curated silence. She slammed the window shut, the floral print curtains barely moving. It was a futile gesture, of course. The infernal racket from next door, courtesy of the Millers’ “dream kitchen” renovation, seeped through brick and mortar like a persistent cough.

She poured another cup of lukewarm coffee, the bitterness of it mirroring the mood that had settled upon her since the demo began. The sheer audacity of it! They’d only moved in six months prior. Did they even *know* what they were doing?

A tremor of irritation pulsed in her jaw. The rhythmic thud of a hammer was now a constant backdrop to her attempts at peace. Amelia found herself staring at the untouched crossword on her coffee table, an uncharacteristic tension stiffening her shoulders. It was all a bit much, wasn’t it?