Gemotions

The rhythmic thudding started before dawn, pulling Amelia from a fitful sleep. She buried her face in the pillow, but the vibrations seemed to travel through the mattress, into her bones. She considered calling the police, then remembered Mrs. Gable next door. This wasn't a police matter, just the infernal remodeling project.

She finally dragged herself out of bed, the silence of the house a stark contrast to the cacophony emanating from next door. The stale air of the kitchen felt thick in her lungs. She slammed the coffee pot onto the burner, the sound echoing in the emptiness.

Later, she found herself staring at the untouched canvas on her easel, unable to summon the will to even pick up a brush. The persistent hammering grated on her nerves, a relentless assault on her fragile peace. She crumpled the sketch she had been working on, a frustrated gesture in the face of the unyielding din.