Gemotions

The constant dust was ruining everything. Clara’s freshly washed laundry, hanging to dry, was now speckled with a fine layer of grit. Her normally pristine windows were coated in a film of grime. She could barely see the sunshine.

Her fingers fidgeted as she stared out of her window. The noise was maddening, a constant barrage of hammering and sawing. She bit her lip until it bled. Her neighbor, Mr. Jones, was extending his patio, expanding his domain with reckless disregard.

She felt a hollowness in her chest. She needed to clean the house again. And again. And again. Every breath felt like a punishment. She needed to get away, she thought, before she lost her mind.