Gemotions

The fence was almost finished. From the kitchen window, he watched the final panel being nailed in place. The neatly constructed wood felt like a symbol of everything he wasn't, everything he couldn't be.

He hadn’t eaten anything all day. The fridge was full of food, but the idea of preparing anything was overwhelming. The kitchen, once a place of comfort, now felt like a stark, sterile environment.

The scent of freshly cut wood drifted in the open window, a strangely pleasant aroma that couldn't penetrate the heavy fog that surrounded him.

Mr. Peterson, the carpenter, called out a cheerful goodbye to Mr. Henderson, and the sounds of hammering finally ceased. An uncanny quiet fell over the neighborhood. He was left alone with his thoughts and the looming emptiness of his day.