Gemotions

"Need a hand?" she heard. She peeked through the blinds. Mr. Davis, her neighbor, was struggling to lift a heavy fence panel. The offer, the expectation of interaction, made her want to retreat back to her bed.

She took a slow, deep breath. The thought of speaking to someone, of having to feign interest or, God forbid, *smile*, filled her with dread. The house felt like a prison. The world outside, a vast and terrifying landscape.

The sun glinted off the nails as they were hammered into place. Each metallic clang echoed in her chest. She found herself wishing they would simply stop, that the noise would end, that the relentless push of the world would abate.

She watched, unseen, as he eventually managed to get the panel in place. He wiped his brow, a look of satisfaction on his face. She felt nothing.