Gemotions

The pounding started at dawn. It vibrated through the floorboards, a relentless tattoo against the fragile peace of her morning. She'd told Mark, the neighbor, to start later, that she had a headache. Now, each hammer blow felt like a personal assault. She pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to will the throbbing away, a futile effort. She should have been nicer.

She remembered the way she’d dismissed his excitement about the project, the rolling of her eyes when he’d described his plans for the deck. Now, she felt a profound heaviness, a cold stone lodged in her chest. She pictured him, cheerful and oblivious, and wished she could rewind time.

She stood abruptly, then walked to the window. The bright sunlight hurt her eyes as she looked at the newly delivered lumber. She should help him. Maybe then this awful sensation would abate.