Gemotions

The first nail gun burst shattered the morning calm. Sarah shot upright in bed, heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a scene suddenly rendered ominous. She threw the covers aside, her bare feet hitting the cold wood floor.

“Not again,” she muttered, fingers already reaching for her phone. She scrolled through the contacts, her thumb hovering over the number of the Homeowners Association. Her chest felt constricted. The incessant drilling had to be stopped before it started.

She slammed the phone down in exasperation. She ran a hand through her hair, which felt like a tangled mess. She could smell the dust coming through the slightly ajar window, the scent of fresh wood and the unspoken promise of weeks, maybe months, of noise.