Gemotions

The tremor in his hands was slight, but noticeable. John steadied himself against the kitchen counter, watching the contractor haul another sheet of plywood into the house next door. The air thrummed with the whine of a circular saw. It grated against him, this sudden disruption of his routine.

He'd enjoyed the predictability of his life. The quiet mornings, the gentle hum of the refrigerator. Now, the peace was shattered. He found himself avoiding the front window, as though the sight of the construction would somehow infect him with its chaos.

He picked at his breakfast, the toast suddenly tasteless. He felt a need to clean, to order, to control something, anything. He washed the dishes twice, scrubbing at the same spot until his knuckles were red. He felt as though something was about to unravel.