Gemotions

The power drill’s whine was like a needle to the nerves. It was the only sound that pierced the fog in Clara's head. She stared at the ceiling fan, its blades still.

She had been meaning to clean, to rearrange the furniture, to do a hundred other things. But her limbs felt heavy, and her resolve was gone. She felt a vague sense of unease that settled in her gut like a stone.

She made herself a cup of tea, but the warmth did nothing to chase away the chill she felt inside. Outside, the progress on the house continued. The air was filled with a sense of purpose that seemed light-years away from her own world.