Gemotions

The world was a tilted landscape of familiar objects. Thomas felt a pressure in his chest, a squeezing that made it hard to breathe. The blueprints, strewn across his kitchen table, seemed to mock him with their precise lines and angles. He'd been looking at them for hours, or maybe days. Time had become a meaningless blur.

He picked up the phone, intending to call the city. The noise outside, a relentless scraping and the thud of something heavy, was driving him to distraction. But the numbers danced before his eyes. He fumbled, dropping the phone. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He tried again, dialing a random number. A voice on the other end, friendly and patient, asked if he was alright. He hung up. He didn't know the answer.

He glanced out the window. His neighbor, Mrs. Gable, was standing in her yard, gesturing emphatically at something. He couldn't decipher her words. The fence. It was coming, a barricade against… what? He didn't know.