Gemotions

The first nail gun burst echoed through the thin walls, vibrating through Clara's bones. She’d been enjoying a rare moment of silence, a cup of chamomile tea warming her hands, when the infernal racket began. Now, her jaw clenched, and she found herself staring out the kitchen window, across the manicured lawns, to the offending house. Mr. Henderson, with his ridiculous plaid shirts and booming laughter, was finally at it.

A tight knot formed in her stomach. She pictured herself, later that evening, "accidentally" misplacing his prized garden gnome. The one with the fishing rod.

Clara spent the rest of the day researching noise ordinances.