Gemotions

He stared at the blueprints, lines blurring before his eyes. The fence, a simple wooden structure, should have been a welcome addition. Privacy, he'd told himself. A barrier against prying eyes. But now, as he traced the proposed route, it felt more like a cage, further enclosing the already constricted space he occupied.

"It'll keep the dogs in," he'd said to his neighbor, forcing a smile that felt stiff and unnatural. The neighbor, oblivious, had nodded enthusiastically. He gripped the pen so tightly his knuckles were white.

He went out and sat on the cold patio, the empty swing set swaying gently in the breeze. He could almost hear the laughter of his daughter, her voice a ghost in the air. The physical ache in his chest was almost unbearable. He should be glad for the added security, he knew. Security from the world. Security from remembering.