Gemotions

The surveyor's stakes, bright orange flags fluttering in the gentle breeze, were a declaration of war. I stared at them, my breath catching in my throat. I suddenly felt pinned. My carefully cultivated garden, the fruit trees I’d nurtured for years, would be sliced in two.

My jaw ached, my teeth grinding together. The thought of the imposing structure looming over my property filled me with a primal anger. I marched over to the stakes, a strange sense of unreality washing over me.

"This is not happening," I muttered, my voice barely audible. I wanted to rip them out, tear them apart, show them that this intrusion was not welcome. I kicked at one of the stakes, sending it spinning uselessly. My whole body felt like it was on fire.