Gemotions

“A privacy fence,” she’d said, her voice dripping with sugary sweetness. “For the children, you know.” The blatant lie, the thinly veiled insult, made my stomach twist.

I was across the street, watching the men erect the imposing structure. The wood was raw, uncaring. My breath hitched in my throat as it began.

My fingers ached with the urge to touch it, to feel the solidity of the wood, to understand the source of the overwhelming dread. It would steal the light, stifle the breeze, and cut me off. I fought the urge to explode. I clenched my jaw, the muscles in my neck straining. This was unfair.