Gemotions

The first crash of the morning echoed through Martha’s kitchen, making the coffee cup in her hand rattle against the saucer. She barely flinched. Another Saturday, another beginning to whatever fresh hell Mr. Henderson was inflicting on his house this time. She sighed, a puff of air that barely disturbed the silence of her morning. She'd been looking forward to a quiet day of gardening. Well, that was over.

A dull ache throbbed in her temples, a familiar companion these days. She placed the cup carefully on the counter, the clink soft against the granite. She really should have moved years ago. She'd known this would happen.

The sound of a power saw screamed to life. Martha walked over to her window, peered out at the scene. Mr. Henderson, sweat already beading on his forehead, swung a sledgehammer. She felt a vague, heavy feeling settle in her stomach. What was the point in trying to get away now?