Gemotions

The afternoon sun beat down, turning the air thick and heavy. A contractor, a man with a booming voice and calloused hands, knocked on her door. It was the third time this week. "Just need a signature, ma'am," he said, holding out a clipboard. Her jaw tightened.

She stood in the doorway, blocking his path, her arms crossed. "I haven't decided yet," she repeated, her voice echoing the stiffness she felt internally. The heat seemed to intensify. She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to go and start painting her shed the brightest color she could find.

"Right," the contractor mumbled, and then he left.