Gemotions

"More noise," Sarah muttered, her voice raspy from disuse. She stared at the ceiling, the familiar pattern of cracks blurring through her unfocused eyes. The first strike of a hammer against wood reverberated through her bones, a jarring intrusion on her quiet, internal world.

She felt like a wilted flower, her petals drooping inwards. Each breath was a shallow, almost forgotten task. The thought of showering, of changing out of her pajamas, of even opening the curtains, seemed beyond her capability.

A wave of indifference washed over her. The sound of saws and drills now seemed to be a perfect metaphor for her mental state: loud, chaotic, and seemingly unstoppable. She wanted to scream, but the energy for such an act was not there.