Gemotions

The insistent hammering was the last straw. The noise had been escalating all morning, each strike of the hammer a blow to his sanity. Robert, already irritable, slammed his newspaper down on the table. It was the Smiths, of course.

He stormed outside, intent on saying something, anything. But the moment he saw the carnage, his protest died in his throat. The Smiths’ house was a disaster. His mouth fell open. He stood there, his fists clenched, watching them happily swing a sledgehammer.

He turned and slowly retreated. He sat on his front steps, the sounds of destruction washing over him, and a wave of something akin to bewilderment washed over his face. He’d never seen anything like it.