Gemotions

The hammering started before dawn, a relentless staccato rhythm that clawed its way into Arthur’s sleep. He slammed a fist onto the nightstand, the action echoing the frustration that had been simmering in his chest all week. He was already short on sleep. Now this.

He dragged himself out of bed, the floorboards cold beneath his bare feet. The culprit was next door, a young man with a boundless supply of energy and a penchant for brightly colored lumber. Arthur peered through the curtains, his brow furrowed, watching the fence posts being driven in.

“Morning, Arthur!” the neighbor chirped, oblivious to the storm brewing behind the closed window. Arthur simply grunted, the sound a low rumble of discontent. He retreated, slamming the curtains shut with unnecessary force.