Gemotions

Agnes took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves as she answered the doorbell. It was Mrs. Peterson, beaming, holding a pamphlet. The sun was too bright, the birds were chirping too loudly, and now this.

“We’re putting up a lovely white picket fence,” Mrs. Peterson announced, her voice like a tinny radio. “To keep the dog in and the… well, the other things out.” Agnes felt a tightening in her chest.

She forced a tight smile. "That sounds... nice," she managed, her fingers clenching into fists at her sides. She wanted to scream, to tell her to go away, to stop smiling so brightly.

The woman continued, gesturing wildly with the pamphlet, detailing the height, the materials, the aesthetic appeal. Agnes’s jaw ached from the effort of maintaining a pleasant facade. She wanted to be left alone.