Gemotions

The sound of hammering, a relentless staccato, assaulted his ears. He pressed his palms against his temples, trying to shut out the noise. The vibrant scene outside his window – the dappled sunlight, the children playing, the sounds of life – felt distorted, wrong.

He imagined the fence rising, a dark, jagged line, a scar across the landscape. His mouth was dry. His shoulders slumped. He felt an inexplicable, overwhelming sadness.

He knew he should confront the workers, demand they stop, but his voice seemed to have abandoned him. He retreated further into his house, drawing the curtains, seeking refuge from the encroaching darkness. He could only listen, paralyzed, to the incessant pounding.