Gemotions

The pounding started at precisely 7:00 AM, each blow a spike driven into Clara’s skull. She sat bolt upright in bed, heart hammering against her ribs, the cheerful floral wallpaper suddenly accusing. She threw the covers aside, her legs tangled and weak.

She padded to the window, peering through the gauzy curtains. Across the street, the Millers’ quaint Victorian was now a hive of activity. Men in hardhats swarmed around it, a symphony of destruction in the making.

Clara’s hand flew to her throat, her breath catching. She needed quiet, a void. She had to escape this clatter. She'd get dressed, then, and go for a long walk – she would walk until it was gone.