Gemotions

The incessant drilling felt like a personal assault. Every vibration in the floorboards of Harold's apartment sent a fresh wave of irritation through him. He slammed his fist on the table, scattering the crossword puzzle he'd been attempting. He'd poured his morning coffee, but could no longer stomach the taste.

His shoulders were hunched, his neck stiff, as if bracing for a blow. He hated feeling like this. The neighbors renovation had been dragging on for weeks now. He stared at the ceiling, imagining the dust particles raining down, contaminating everything. He felt a familiar knot tightening in his stomach.

"Can't they just… stop?" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. He rose and began pacing his cramped living room, each step a frustrated stomp. The noise, the constant disruption, was stealing his peace. He felt drained, as if all his energy was being siphoned away.