Gemotions

My fists clenched as the jackhammer started its relentless pounding. It was Mrs. Gable, next door, determined to turn her quaint cottage into some monstrosity. I slammed my book shut. Enough was enough. I grabbed my gardening gloves, a rake, and marched toward the demolition.

The air thrummed with the machine's roar. I stepped directly into the chaos. Ignoring the workers’ startled glances, I began raking the stray bits of wood and debris away from the sidewalk. A small, almost insignificant action, yet it felt like a crucial stand. My back ached, but I straightened. I had to look like I was busy.

"Morning!" I chirped, my voice sounding more assured than I felt. The foreman, a gruff man, stared at me. I maintained eye contact, then continued to rake. I felt a strange lightness inside, a feeling of fighting back against the tide.