Gemotions

Rain hammered against the windowpane, mirroring the relentless drumming in Eleanor’s head. She stared at the overflowing ashtray on her coffee table, the stale scent of nicotine thick in the air. Another failed attempt at writing. She'd been staring at the blinking cursor for hours, the words refusing to come, just like the answers to her problems. A low growl cut through the drumming. Damn Buster. He was at it again, digging under the fence, dirt spraying onto her meticulously weeded rose bushes.

She slammed her pen down. The ink splattered. "This isn't happening," she muttered, grabbing her oversized cardigan, the threadbare sleeves a comfort. Stepping out into the downpour, she braced herself, bracing for the inevitable. Her hand clenched at her side as she approached the hole under the fence. "Buster!" Her voice cracked slightly, a sound she hated, just like this whole situation.