Gemotions

The pounding started at precisely 8:00 AM. Sarah flinched, pulling the duvet over her head. The incessant rhythmic thudding was a relentless drumbeat against her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to conjure the peace of the silent house she’d known for years, a house now violated by the clamor next door. She’d been staring at the ceiling for hours last night. Sleep was a distant shore she couldn't reach.

The smell of sawdust and fresh paint was already seeping under her door. She slammed her fist against the pillow, the action offering a meager release. It wasn’t the noise itself, she knew. It was the disruption. The reminder that things were changing. That *she* was changing, whether she wanted to or not.

She finally threw off the covers, the cool air raising goosebumps on her arms. Downstairs, the coffee machine gurgled. She poured a cup, the silence of the kitchen a stark contrast to the cacophony outside. Her gaze fell on the untouched manuscript on the table. Another day of writer's block. Another day her dreams of publishing seemed farther away than ever.