Gemotions

The sunlight felt sharp, cutting. Margaret wandered out into the garden, the dew cold on her bare feet. The air was heavy with the smell of freshly cut wood. She circled her property, tracing the imaginary line of her boundary. Each step was an effort, a struggle to maintain her balance.

She knew this garden. Knew the feel of the soil between her fingers, the names of the roses. But today, it felt alien, unfamiliar. The familiar shapes of her roses seemed distorted, menacing. A cold wave washed over her.

The pounding started again, a rhythmic percussion that echoed in her skull. It was coming from next door. From the moment she looked over, her stomach lurched. Mr. Davies, the man from next door, was grinning, pointing at the new fence that was quickly beginning to take shape. She blinked. A sudden urge to run surged through her, to escape the creeping, claustrophobic sensation that had taken root within her.