Gemotions

A vein throbbed in Michael’s temple. The jackhammer's rhythmic assault was relentless. He couldn't even hear the TV over the din. He'd lived in this house for thirty years, and now these newcomers were tearing it apart, transforming what he considered a safe space into a chaotic construction zone.

He found himself pacing his living room, a coiled spring ready to snap. He kept finding himself down on their property, glaring at the chaos. He imagined their house burning down, and felt a tiny flicker of satisfaction at the thought.

He knew he should be doing something productive, but the very thought of it sent a shudder through him.