Gemotions

The incessant whine of a circular saw grated on Eleanor’s nerves. She’d always found comfort in the quiet, especially after her husband, George, had passed. Now, the construction across the street felt like an assault. Still, every time the saw cut through wood she found herself transported.

She drifted through the house, pausing in the living room, where George had built bookshelves. He had poured all his time into them.

She felt a phantom sensation in her hand, as if she were holding his hand. She walked into the garage, where George had kept his tools. There, she carefully picked up his favorite hammer, the handle worn smooth from years of use. It felt weighty and familiar. He had passed on almost two years ago. The house felt empty.