Gemotions

It was the fifth day of the hammering, and Maya was at her breaking point. She sat at her kitchen table, staring blankly at her open laptop. The screen displayed a half-written email, the words a jumbled mess of half-formed thoughts. The noise was maddening, a constant barrage that made her teeth ache.

She pushed her chair away from the table, needing to move, to do something. The apartment felt like a prison. Every object in her view seemed to press in on her, constricting her. Her breaths became shallow and rapid.

She felt a desperate need to escape, to get away from the sound. She grabbed her keys and ran out the door.