Gemotions

The aroma of freshly cut wood hung in the air, a scent that normally would have comforted him. Instead, it made him feel... trapped. He stared at the fence, realizing he didn’t even know the man who wanted to build it.

He sat in his porch swing, not swinging. His hands, usually busy with a book or a gardening tool, lay still in his lap. He felt disoriented, dislocated. He was completely out of sorts.

He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. The silence of the neighborhood seemed to amplify the hammering inside his head.