Gemotions

"More coffee?" Sarah's voice, usually bright, sounded flat even to her own ears. The question hung in the air, unanswered. The rhythmic drilling from the Peterson's house across the street was a constant, grating presence. Sarah stared out the window, watching the workers move with purpose.

She had meant to start painting the living room this weekend. The paint cans sat unopened in the garage, mocking her with their promise of transformation. She'd chosen the perfect shade of blue, a color that always made her feel calm. But the thought of picking up a brush, of even opening a can, felt like an impossible task.

She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her shoulders slumped. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to break something. Instead, she just turned away from the window and went back to the couch, the silence inside her own apartment a heavy cloak.