Gemotions

The hammering started before dawn, each thud a tiny explosion of dread in Leo's chest. He peeked through the blinds. Mr. Henderson, his neighbor, already had the post hole digger humming, spitting dirt onto the manicured lawn. Leo quickly ducked back, the sudden movement causing his cheek to brush against the cold glass. He hadn't bothered to shave in days.

He retreated to the kitchen, the scent of stale coffee clinging to the air. The mirror over the sink seemed to magnify every imperfection, the tired lines around his eyes, the way his hair stubbornly refused to lie flat. He poured himself a cup, the liquid sloshing over the rim of the mug, mirroring the chaotic churn in his stomach.

Later, he ventured outside, hoping the noise would have subsided. Mr. Henderson, sweat beading on his forehead, straightened up and offered a hearty wave. Leo mumbled a greeting, his voice barely a whisper, and quickly averted his gaze, focusing intently on a single, insignificant weed growing near the edge of his own lawn.