Gemotions

"Honestly," Arthur muttered, slamming the window shut with more force than necessary. The metallic screech of the saw sliced through the morning calm like a scream. His stomach churned, a cold knot tightening. He knew the Millers were renovating, but he hadn't anticipated this level of intrusion.

He retreated into the kitchen, his appetite nonexistent. He usually relished his morning coffee and newspaper, but today, both felt tainted, ruined by the echoing thuds and the persistent drone. His hands trembled as he poured the coffee, the hot liquid sloshing over the side of the mug. He felt trapped, a prisoner in his own home.

“Damn it all to hell,” he finally grumbled, throwing the damp newspaper on the counter.