Gemotions

The pounding. It was always the pounding. It seeped into everything, a constant irritant. Olivia hated it, the incessant noise. She sat, shoulders slumped, hunched over a cup of tepid coffee.

"It's going to take months," Mrs. Gable had said, her voice high and brittle. Olivia had barely managed a nod. The prospect of months of this felt like a sentence.

The morning light, once a source of comfort, now seemed to illuminate the emptiness of her house. She couldn’t concentrate on her work. She was trying to finish a novel, a project she had lost all enthusiasm for. She had nothing to write about anymore.

Her fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the table. She felt a strange, pervasive weariness. Everything seemed to demand effort.