Gemotions

The rhythmic pounding was a physical assault. Clara squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the noise, but it was useless. It vibrated through her bones, rattling her teeth. The air inside the house felt thick, stifling.

She’d been attempting to bake a cake, but the noise made the whole process impossible. Her hands shook as she measured the flour, and she accidentally spilled half of it on the counter. The smell of the unbaked flour made her nauseous.

She sat heavily at the table, her head in her hands. The thought of the days, possibly weeks, of this was deeply unsettling. She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t even relax. She felt imprisoned in her own home.