Gemotions

The sound of the saw, the incessant buzz, felt like an assault. He buried his face in his pillow, trying to muffle the noise, but it seemed to vibrate through the entire house.

He hadn't been sleeping well lately, or rather, he had been sleeping too much. But even when he was awake, he felt tired, a bone-deep weariness that clung to him like a shroud.

He hadn't left the house in three days. The mail was piling up on the doormat, unopened. The dishes were stacked in the sink, a monument to his inaction.

The fence was a physical manifestation of the progress he wasn't making. The steady, measured pace of construction mocked his own stagnation. He closed his eyes, wishing the world would just go away.