Gemotions

The hammering started before dawn, each thud a brutal punctuation mark against the pre-dawn quiet. Sarah clutched her pillow, her stomach twisting. She pulled the covers over her head, trying to block out the relentless noise. The rhythmic percussion invaded her dreams, morphing into the sound of someone trying to break in.

“Damn it,” she muttered, kicking the sheets away. Peeking through the curtains, she saw Mr. Henderson, sweat beading on his forehead, wrestling a post into the ground. A new fence. Another barrier.

She wanted to scream, to run outside and demand he stop, but the thought of confrontation paralyzed her. She retreated back to bed, feeling a cold dread creep into her bones. The house felt smaller, the walls closing in.