Gemotions

The hammering started before the sun even thought about rising. Agnes yanked the covers over her head, wishing she had earplugs. That man, Mr. Henderson, and his fence. She’d been enjoying the peace of the mornings lately, the quiet. Now this.

She kicked the duvet, her foot hitting the cold wall. She should go down there, tell him, but the thought of confrontation made her stomach clench.

She thumped her pillow and buried her face in it, inhaling the faint scent of lavender, trying to will herself back to sleep. The insistent *thwack, thwack, thwack* was relentless. Finally, she surrendered, throwing the covers aside and stomping to the window.