Gemotions

The fence was finished. The perfect symmetry of it, the flawless construction, was almost unbearable. He wanted to scream.

He hadn't felt the sun on his skin in days. He avoided mirrors, unable to bear the sight of his own face. Food had lost all taste. The world was a canvas painted in shades of gray.

He watched Mr. Henderson, now standing back to admire his work. The man seemed pleased, satisfied. He wanted to feel that, the simple satisfaction of a job well done. But he couldn't.

He turned and went inside, the image of the fence seared into his mind, another monument to his own inadequacy. He sank down onto the couch, the weight of everything pressing down on him.