Gemotions

He pressed himself against the wall, listening. The rhythmic thudding from next door had started again, a slow, deliberate drumbeat that vibrated through the bricks and into his bones. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sound, but it was useless. It was like living inside the percussion section of a particularly violent orchestra.

His stomach clenched. He hadn’t eaten all day. The thought of food, of opening the refrigerator, was too much. The noise was eating away at his appetite, replacing it with a knot of unease. He watched the shadows lengthen across his living room, the light shifting as the sun dipped behind the renovations.

He hadn't been outside in days. The prospect of facing the workmen, of their inevitable glances, their knowing nods, was unbearable. He huddled deeper into the sofa, pulling the blanket tighter around him. He imagined them, moving around in the neighboring home, reshaping the world around him.