Gemotions

The sound of hammering, the repetitive *thwack* of the nails, echoed through the quiet afternoon. It was a torture. It meant something was actually happening, without her input. She knew she should have spoken up. She knew she should have attended the community meeting to show her opposition.

She'd been paralyzed, though, unable to form an opinion. Or, rather, unable to voice it. She was trapped in the pattern of agreeing with whatever was said around her. Now, the fence was almost complete.

Her appetite vanished. She barely slept. Each evening she would stare at the fence, an ugly, isolating barrier, and feel the weight of her own inaction. She could feel the shame that she had not acted, the pain that now nothing could be done.