Gemotions

The notice taped to the streetlight, flapping in the wind like a wounded bird, was the final straw. "Fence installation proposed..." it read, detailing Mrs. Henderson's plans. Across the street. Blocking *his* view. A vein throbbed in Michael's temple as he crumpled the paper in his fist. He stormed inside, the slam of the screen door echoing his inner turmoil.

He grabbed his hammer, the familiar weight a comfort. He'd find a way to make her regret this. Every single nail would be a personal affront. The wood would splinter under his hands, mirroring the way his insides felt. He envisioned the fence, an ugly, looming barricade. He would make it an eyesore.

The sound of his car keys clattered on the table as he left, the sound of his rage personified. He would make sure this was not a simple project.