Gemotions

“It’ll improve property values,” the realtor had said, her voice dripping with sugar and lies. He’d seen the plans, the sleek, modern design, a cold, impersonal barrier that would swallow up his small garden, his sanctuary.

He'd loved the way his back yard felt like an escape. He could sit out there for hours, without encountering anyone. Now, it was just a piece of property, a financial asset.

He found himself sitting on his porch, watching the men work. A knot formed in his stomach. He lit a cigarette, the smoke bitter on his tongue. He had to breathe in heavily, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest.