Gemotions

He found the blueprint tucked under his windshield wiper. His knuckles were white as he crumpled the paper in his grip. The detailed schematics showed a towering, imposing structure of iron bars, designed to slice across the property line. His insides twisted. The birds that nested in the ancient oak tree – their songs the soundtrack to his mornings – would be silenced, the sky blotted out.

He felt a clammy sweat break out across his forehead. His vision swam as he pictured the relentless metallic grid that would cage his small slice of the world. He pressed his face against the cool glass of his car window, the image of the fence seared into his mind. He couldn’t breathe.

He stormed out of his car, his voice a strangled croak as he demanded to see Mr. Henderson, the neighbor, immediately. The man's cheerful demeanor when he opened the door only stoked his growing agitation. He felt an urge to scream, to tear the plans to shreds.