Gemotions

The demolition had started early. Michael was awakened by the roar of machinery, a jarring intrusion on his Sunday morning lie-in. He pulled the covers over his head, but it was no use. The noise burrowed its way into his consciousness.

He finally dragged himself out of bed, feeling a knot of unease in his stomach. The thought of the mess, the disruption, and the sheer length of the project filled him with dismay. He knew it would be months.

Later, he stood at his kitchen sink, the water running, pretending to wash a dish for an unseemly amount of time. He was attempting to quell the tightness in his chest.