Gemotions

The hammering started earlier than expected. He flinched at the sharp, insistent sounds, his nerves already frayed. He pressed his face against the window, watching the workers erect the first post. A wave of dread washed over him.

He couldn't focus on his work. The fence, a stark line of demarcation, felt like a physical representation of his isolation. His mind raced, replaying conversations, second-guessing his reactions.

He felt a tightness in his chest, a sensation of being compressed. He wanted to shout, to halt the construction, to rewind time. Instead, he retreated into the deepest recesses of his house.