Gemotions

"Another one," Mrs. Gable muttered, pulling the curtains closed in her living room. The persistent cacophony of the construction site vibrated through her ancient bones. The house had belonged to her family for generations.

Each morning she would sit down, making herself a cup of tea, and try to have a moment of peace. Each day, the peace was disturbed. The builders were noisy and they were building something that she could not control.

Her grown children lived far away, and she had become increasingly reliant on the comfort of her routine, her home. The prospect of change, of the unknown, filled her with a nameless dread. The noise was the least of her concerns. It was the feeling of being boxed in that made her heart race and her hands go cold.