Gemotions

The morning mist clung to everything, mirroring the dampness that seemed to have settled deep inside Arthur. He dragged his feet on the cracked pavement, the air tasting like pennies and impending rain. Mrs. Henderson’s cheerful wave from across the lawn felt like a slap in the face.

He didn't want to smile. He didn’t want to respond. The thought of getting up and facing the day felt like wading through molasses. He mumbled something inaudible, hoping she'd just go back inside.

The notice on his door about the fence was a final straw. Another barrier. More division. The world seemed intent on closing in, one picket at a time. He slumped onto his porch swing, the rhythmic creak a soundtrack to his unease.