Gemotions

The hammering started before the sun even thought about peeking over the horizon. Sarah fumbled for her glasses, squinting at the encroaching daylight. Her breath hitched. She had no idea where she was. The bedroom felt… wrong. A cold dread seeped into her bones. Then, the rhythmic *thwack* of wood against wood registered. It wasn't the birds she usually woke to, but something insistent, demanding. She stumbled out of bed, pulling on a robe that wasn't hers. The world swam.

She peered through the gaps in her hastily drawn curtains. Mr. Henderson, next door, was already hard at work, his back a rigid silhouette against the brightening sky. A truck overflowing with lumber sat in his driveway. The fence. Of course. But why?

"Morning, Sarah!" Mr. Henderson’s voice boomed, startling her. She flinched, her hand flying to her chest. He was smiling, but the gesture felt hollow, disconnected. She couldn't remember the last time she’d spoken to him. Or what she’d eaten for dinner. Or her own name, for a dizzying moment.