Gemotions

The drilling started during the quietest part of the day, when the sun was directly overhead and the cicadas had gone silent. Michael slammed his fist on the kitchen table, scattering the mail. His face was flushed. He couldn't think. The high-pitched whine burrowed into his skull. He closed his eyes, but it didn't help. He could still *feel* it, a vibration that made his teeth ache.

He stormed outside, slamming the door so hard the glass in the window rattled. He needed air. He needed to scream. He approached the construction site, hands clenched into fists, ready to confront the perpetrators of this aural assault.

He stopped, seeing the foreman. He took a deep breath. His pulse was thrumming in his ears. He started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He felt like he was going to explode.