Gemotions

He’d been enjoying a rare moment of solitude, immersed in his book, when the first chainsaw whine ripped through the afternoon. Michael’s tea cup froze mid-air. He blinked, unsure if he'd imagined it. The noise, though, was undeniably real, accompanied by the distinct smell of freshly cut lumber. He slowly rose, the book falling unheeded to the floor.

He went to the window, his gaze drawn to Mrs. Gable's house, where a construction crew had descended like locusts. He couldn't understand why, she’d only just replaced the roof last year. He stood there, unmoving, feeling a strange hollowness settle in his stomach. What was happening?

He found himself unable to return to his book. He sat on the edge of his bed, utterly still.