Gemotions

The incessant drone of the circular saw sliced through the late afternoon. Margaret buried her face in her hands, attempting to block out the noise. This "renovation" had been going on for weeks, and the constant din was driving her mad. The plaster dust had invaded her house, settling on every surface.

She considered writing a strongly-worded note, but the thought of confrontation filled her with dread. The last time she'd tried to discuss an issue with Mr. Jones, he'd feigned deafness. She had, in the end, given up.

She longed for silence, for the simple pleasure of an undisturbed evening. She just wanted peace. She pictured herself fleeing to the woods, a fantasy of pure, unadulterated solitude, but she was trapped.