Gemotions

The neighbor’s fence plans—a perfectly executed proposal, complete with detailed diagrams—lay open on the kitchen table. Liam picked at a loose thread on his sweater, the frayed edges mirroring his own internal state.

He pushed the plate of untouched toast away. The thought of dealing with anyone, even a polite inquiry to Mr. Henderson, seemed impossible. He just wanted the world to stop for a while.

He reread the words, the professional font, the optimistic tone of the letter. The planned fence looked so… purposeful. Liam felt like an object adrift, with no purpose at all.