Gemotions

The rhythmic thudding started promptly at eight, a percussive announcement of the day. Sarah pulled the covers tighter, wishing the world would just quiet down. She found herself staring at the ceiling, the patterns of the popcorn texture blurring in the dim light. Breakfast was a solitary affair, a bowl of cereal eaten with the TV on for noise.

Later, she sat on her porch swing, watching the dust motes dance in the sunlight. Across the street, the renovations were in full swing. Men shouted, power tools whined, and the air buzzed with activity. She felt a sharp pang in her chest, a physical ache she couldn't explain.

"Need a hand?" a voice boomed from the front yard. A burly man with a kind face stood there, holding a shovel. Sarah shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. "Just admiring your flowers," she mumbled, quickly retreating back inside.