Gemotions

"Ugh," Sarah muttered, shoving her breakfast plate away. The smell of sawdust, carried by the morning breeze, had invaded her kitchen. The thought of eating anything, of putting anything near her mouth, was completely unappealing.

She glared at the offending house next door. It was no longer a charming bungalow, but a hulking skeleton of exposed beams and plastic sheeting. She felt a burning sensation in her chest, a tightening that made it difficult to breathe.

She marched outside, determined to confront Mr. Davis. His cheerful wave from the porch felt like a personal insult. She had to say something. She had to make him understand how unwelcome this all was.