Gemotions

He felt his cheeks flame when the first power saw ripped through the silence of his afternoon nap. He bolted upright in bed, heart hammering against his ribs. The noise, the incessant, grating noise, was impossible to ignore. He pulled the covers over his head, a futile gesture.

The dust, he knew, would be the next torment. He imagined the particles infiltrating his meticulously cleaned house. He pictured them settling on his prized collection of antique thimbles. He let out a strangled groan.

Later, when the banging started up again, he found himself crouched behind his sofa, peering through the gap in the curtains. He saw the new roof being erected, a brazen statement of progress. He swallowed hard, then abruptly turned and hid himself in the linen closet, counting to one hundred.