Gemotions

The hammering stopped abruptly. Mark, who was building a bookshelf, had been happily pounding nails for an hour. He glanced at the wall, and stopped. He never thought his neighbor, old Mrs. Peterson, would complain. She seemed to enjoy the gentle rhythm. A timid knock.

He opened the door, and there she stood. Her face was pale. “Mark,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “the noise… it’s a bit much.”

His hands clenched. He stared at the half-finished bookshelf, the nails scattered at his feet.