Gemotions

He watched the construction from his window, the half-finished fence looking like a jagged scar across the otherwise pleasant landscape. It was a beautiful day, the kind that usually made him want to be outside, to feel the sun on his skin. Not today.

His stomach felt knotted, a permanent ache. He’d eaten nothing but a box of crackers in the last 24 hours. The thought of cooking, of even getting up to go to the kitchen, was an insurmountable task.

The hammering grew louder, closer. He could practically feel the vibrations in his teeth. He considered closing the blinds, but the effort seemed too great, too difficult.

“Morning!” he heard from below, a cheerful voice. It was Mr. Garcia, the neighbor, gesturing at the fence. “Coming along nicely, eh?” He merely nodded in response, a vague sound of agreement escaping his throat. A smile didn't come, not even when he tried to force one.