Gemotions

The rhythmic thudding of the hammer was a relentless drumbeat against his skull. Each strike felt like a personal insult, a taunt to his own immobility. He lay in his bed, the covers pulled tight, trying to shut out the world.

He hadn’t showered in days. His clothes were rumpled, his hair unkempt. The thought of hygiene, of basic self-care, seemed like an absurd expectation.

His phone buzzed with a text message. A friend, asking how he was doing. He ignored it, the words mocking his inability to respond.

The fence, slowly but surely, was taking shape. A barrier, a boundary. Just like the one he’d erected around himself. He closed his eyes, the hammering a constant, suffocating pressure.