Gemotions

The first nail gun burst echoed through Eleanor's otherwise silent house, a gunshot in the morning tranquility. She slammed her coffee mug onto the counter, the ceramic rattling. Outside, a symphony of destruction had begun. Mark, next door, was finally getting around to that deck remodel. Eleanor had been waiting, simmering, for precisely this moment.

She peeled back the curtains, peering through the gap. Mark was already sweating, a lumberjack in his too-tight t-shirt, struggling with a warped board. A small, almost imperceptible smile played on Eleanor’s lips. She considered her own, untouched backyard, a perfect oasis of green.

Eleanor cranked up the stereo, selecting a particularly bass-heavy playlist. Let him feel the vibrations, she thought, watching the hammer fall short and the board spring back. The music seemed to pulse with her mood, a defiant thrum against the rising din of demolition.