Gemotions

The pounding started at dawn. It was a rhythmic thudding that echoed through the thin walls, a relentless pulse against Amelia’s sleep-addled senses. She fumbled for her phone, the cold glass a shock against her clammy hand. 6:03 AM. A low groan escaped her lips. The world felt slightly tilted, as if the foundation of her house had been subtly shifted. She considered calling the police, but the thought flickered and died. She wasn’t sure why.

She shuffled to the window, peering through the gauzy curtains. Across the street, the usually pristine facade of Mr. Henderson’s house was marred by a tangle of scaffolding and a tarp flapping in the breeze. A figure, barely visible in the pre-dawn light, was already hammering. Amelia blinked, trying to focus. It was as if she'd woken up in someone else’s life.

Later, she found herself staring into her coffee cup, the familiar aroma doing little to ground her. The spoon slipped from her grasp, clattering against the ceramic. She spent twenty minutes looking for it before eventually finding it, inexplicably, in the sock drawer.