Gemotions

The first blast of the saw caught Marie by surprise. She jumped, spilling paint on the meticulously folded drop cloth. "Damn it all," she snapped, wiping the mess with a rag. The noise was like a physical blow, a sharp, unwelcome intrusion.

The incessant drone of the equipment was assaulting her creative process. She had been on a roll, completely lost in her art, until the racket began. She felt a surge of pure, unadulterated anger, the kind that made her want to scream.

She stormed out to the back patio, the brush forgotten in her hand. Her fist clenched, and she glared at the fence. They would pay for this interruption.