The hammering started before dawn, each blow a jarring spike through Elias’s already frayed nerves. He pulled the covers over his head, but the rhythmic thudding only amplified, resonating in his skull. His neighbor, Mrs. Gable, was finally putting up that blasted fence. He pictured her, a tiny woman with a deceptively sweet smile, supervising the burly workers. They'd probably be using the old oak tree on his property as a brace. He closed his eyes, the image of his favorite spot – the shady patch under the oak where he drank his morning coffee – slowly dissolving.
He threw the covers back, the sheet twisting around his legs. The sun, a malevolent eye, was already peeking over the horizon, casting long, accusing shadows across his bedroom. He had to stop it. He had to say something. But what? He just wanted it all to be quiet again. He wanted to go back to sleep and not have to think.
He stomped into the kitchen, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He poured himself a cup of coffee, the aroma doing nothing to soothe his agitation. His jaw clenched as he stared out the window, watching the fence posts rise. The world seemed to be closing in.