Gemotions

The rhythmic thud of a hammer pulsed through Amelia's living room. It was a sound she’d come to know intimately over the last few weeks. Mrs. Gable, next door, was finally doing something with her dilapidated Victorian. Amelia stared out her kitchen window, watching the workers haul lumber and bark orders. A cold knot formed in her stomach.

She slammed the fridge door, the sudden noise a sharp counterpoint to the construction next door. Amelia hadn't touched her own house in years, a fact that settled over her like a heavy blanket. The peeling paint on her window frames felt like a personal affront. She poured herself a glass of wine, then immediately changed her mind, returning the bottle to the fridge. The clinking sound echoed the thuds coming from next door.