Gemotions

The incessant scratching at the fence was like a drill, boring into his skull. He knew what it meant. Max, the German Shepherd, was at it again. His shoulders tightened. He felt like he had to deal with this, but at the same time, the idea was making him feel sick.

He slumped into a kitchen chair, picking at a loose thread on his jeans. He ran through the conversation in his head, rehearsing every possible scenario. He envisioned Mr. Davies’ dismissive chuckle, the inevitable excuse.

The knot in his stomach tightened. The fence had to be fixed, but the thought of asking Mr. Davies to do something…it was more than the problem. It was the principle of the thing.