Gemotions

He found himself pacing the perimeter of his yard. The air felt thick, heavy, pressing down on him. The fence posts were already planted, ugly sentinels standing guard. He'd been polite, of course, when Mr. Henderson had first mentioned it. Now, it was a solid, wooden fact. He’d agreed, and now he resented it.

His hands ached to rip them out. He wanted to scream. Instead, he just kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the dry grass. He saw his dog, a golden retriever, watching him from the back porch, its tail cautiously wagging. He felt a wave of guilt.

He considered going back inside but knew he wouldn't be able to escape the growing sense of unease. The sound of the power saw sliced through the morning calm, a constant reminder of the encroachment. He wished the entire street would just disappear. He didn't want any of it.