Gemotions

The letter sat unopened on the kitchen table, a stark white testament to the encroaching darkness. A fence. They were going to build a fence, and she was losing control. The world narrowed down to this one, singular point of conflict.

She found herself walking to the neighbor's house, her legs moving with a strange, disconnected energy. She had to talk to them. She had to reason with them. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a wild, frantic drumbeat.

The words tumbled out of her mouth in a chaotic rush, a jumbled mess of pleas and half-formed arguments. Her voice cracked. She gripped her hands. The cool weight of the metal door handle was a comfort. She was failing.