Gemotions

The pounding started at precisely eight o'clock, just as Agnes was dragging herself out of bed. It was the first day of the kitchen renovation next door. She stared out the window, a dull ache blooming behind her eyes. The sunlight seemed to mock her, cheerful and bright, while her own apartment felt like a tomb. She hadn't even unpacked the last box from the move, six months ago.

A tremor ran through her, a visceral reaction to the intrusion of noise. The hammer blows were a relentless rhythm, a drumbeat of progress she couldn't match. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to quell the rising tide of unease. What was the point, she thought, of even attempting to make a sandwich? Or to watch the telly?

The renovations were a constant, a daily reminder of her inaction. She felt like a forgotten, unused item in a newly furnished home. She wandered back to bed, pulling the covers over her head, wishing the noise would just… stop.