Gemotions

The sound of hammering, rhythmic and relentless, echoed through the quiet afternoon. Each blow was a violation, a forceful assertion of their will. I sat at my window, watching the construction, a tremor running through me.

My throat felt tight, my breath shallow. The posts were going up, solid and unyielding, cutting into the expanse of the land. My hands trembled as I took another sip of my drink, which tasted of ash.

I had tried to reason, to talk. But the more I protested, the more determined they seemed. They were building their wall, ignoring my objections. I felt utterly helpless, trapped. It made my skin crawl.