Gemotions

“Morning!” a voice boomed. Sarah flinched, pulling the curtains closed. Mr. Henderson, beaming, was standing on her lawn, gesturing proudly at the newly completed fence. She didn't want to see it, to acknowledge it.

She didn’t feel like getting up. The thought of small talk, of pretending to be okay, was too exhausting. She felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Empty, lifeless.

She heard the sound of her own breathing, shallow and uneven. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes. The fence, now a solid boundary, seemed to reflect her internal state.

He called out something else, a question, probably. She didn't answer. She couldn't.