Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome guest, felt like a spotlight trained on Elara’s face. She dragged herself to the kitchen, the scent of stale coffee clinging to the air like a shroud. Another day, another struggle to simply exist.

A yellow flyer, vibrant against the beige of the fridge, announced Mr. Henderson's intent to erect a fence. "Enhance Property Value!" it screamed, with a picture of a gleaming picket fence. Elara's own property value felt like it had been steadily deflating for weeks.

She mumbled a greeting to the robin chirping on her windowsill, then let the thought of the fence, and its implications, dissipate into the ether. She didn’t have the energy to care. It was just another thing.