Gemotions

"Seriously?" muttered Emily to herself, pushing the window open and peering outside. The air was thick with the scent of sawdust and something vaguely acrid. The "refreshing facelift" Mr. Peterson had undertaken had transformed her idyllic backyard into a parking lot of construction vehicles.

Her stomach churned. She’d been looking forward to a relaxing afternoon, reading her book beneath the old oak tree. She had already moved her plants in, so they didn't get dusty. Now she envisioned her afternoon plans in shambles. The incessant hammering, the beeping of the reversing trucks, the shouting from the construction workers.

She imagined herself storming over there, demanding a moment of peace. Then she thought of the inevitable excuses, the shrugs, the promises broken. She closed the window with a snap, feeling a surge of ire. She just wanted a bit of peace.