Gemotions

The first nail gun burst of the morning punched right through the quiet. Amelia choked on her coffee, splattering it across the pristine white countertop. She slammed the mug down, a tremor running through her hands. This was it, the beginning of the end. Their quaint peace, shattered.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the kitchen window, watching Mr. Henderson, a man whose smile always felt a bit too wide, directing a gaggle of workers. He pointed, gesturing with a flourish that made her stomach churn. The old Victorian next door was about to become something… else.

Amelia’s appetite vanished. She hadn’t eaten breakfast in two weeks, but now the thought of food felt actively repellent. She needed to escape, to cleanse herself of the impending ugliness. She threw on her coat, ready to walk for miles and miles.